Beware the fury of a patient man
by A Touch of Madness
Summary: The Ministry has fallen, but the impact on Liz's life is negligible. Neither Rebellion or Undesirable, she's done nothing to attract the attention of the dark side. Until a camping trip with her estranged cousin leads her straight into the hands of Snatchers... Scabior/OC. Rated M for strong language, sexual acts and imagery, and graphic violence.
1. Prologue

"Rise and shine, my lovely."

The voice pulled her rudely from the last of unconsciousness. Almost instantly her head began to throb, her stomach rolling as she tried to turn over.

"Sod off," she muttered, trying to pull the sleeping bag over her head and moaning as the pain spiked. She heard the flap of the tent peel back, felt someone crawling along her body and she moved an arm to bat the intruder away.

"Someone ain't an early bird."

Liz froze. That wasn't Jenny's voice. This was a man's voice; deep and languid, the accent pure East London, like the rough and sly boys that had lived near her granddad. Then who…

Wincing, she turned over, pushing the covers away and looking up, straight into the cold blue eyes of a stranger, his wand pointed at her throat. His hair fell dark and tangled around his face, a garish red streak stark against the tousled brown.

The man winced, "Merlin, love. If it was beauty sleep you was after, you're going to want a few more centuries yet."

Liz stared up at the man, curious revulsion on his sharp, vulpine face as he leant forward and rubbed his nose against her hair.

"You smell worse than Greyback," he said pleasantly, sitting back on his haunches and tucking his wand away. "Name's Scabior. And this, my beauty," he smirked, "is you being Snatched."


	2. Chapter 1

He pulled her from the sleeping bag, gripping her arm and yanking her out of the tent into the cold autumn air. Liz's head reeled, her stomach threatening to unburden itself of whatever remained of the Firewhiskey they'd consumed the night before. Another set of arms reached for her as he pulled her clear from the tent and she was perversely grateful for their grip, unsure whether she could stand on her own.

"Right, let's have a look at what we've got then," the man, Scabior, said, pulling a tatty black notebook from his pocket with a flourish. "We've got a Miss Jeanette Fawley, Pureblood. Or so she says. And we've got a… Well, it ain't Pureblood. I'd guess part-troll," Scabior laughed at his own joke, his chuckling joined by that of other men. Liz looked up sharply, realising as well as the man holding her, another held Jenny and two more leant against trees, one large and hairy, his yellow eyes trained on Jenny, the other small and skinny, watching the man called Scabior with blatant hero-worship.

"What's your name, sleeping beauty?" Scabior asked, earning another chuckle from the group.

She stared back at him, afraid to open her mouth, the churning in her stomach begging for release.

"Can it speak?" Scabior directed his question at Jenny. "What's wrong with it?"

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Fawley," Jenny said breathily, and Liz realised that Jenny wasn't afraid; she was excited. "She's my cousin, but she's a half-blood. Her dad and mine were brothers, but her mum is-"

"Yeah, all right," Scabior cut across her. "I asked for a name, not your family history. I ain't arranging a marriage for you, love." He looked at his list, a long finger trailing down the names. "You ain't on here, which is either very good or very bad. Good, because there ain't no-one looking for you. Bad, because there ain't no-one looking for you," he grinned wolfishly at Jenny and Liz heaved.

The arms gripping her let go suddenly and she fell to her knees, retching violently.

"What'd you let go for?" Scabior demanded.

"She's going to chuck up; I don't want no sick on my boots."

"Oh, you poor thing. Diddums. Pick it up."

But before the man could haul her to her feet, Liz's stomach released, sending a stream of vomit onto the forest floor. Tears burned her eyes as she vomited, over and over, the assembly of Snatchers laughing delightedly at the sight.

"She got sommat?" Scabior asked Jenny. "Is it diseased?"

Jenny shook her head. "Hung-over," she said. "It was my birthday and-"

"Your birthday?" Scabior said, his face lighting up with interest. "Well, why didn't you say? I ain't had time to get you nothing. You must be disappointed. Tell you what, I'll make it up to you later. Can't let an important thing like your birthday slip by, can we? And how old were you, my lovely?"

From her position on her knees, Liz could hear her cousin say, almost flirtatiously, "Twenty-three."

"Twenty-three," Scabior repeated, whistling. "And what house were you in?"

"Slytherin."

"Well, what do you know? We was at school together. Housemates. I'd've been in my last year when you started. Do you remember me, pet?"

"Maybe," said Jenny and Liz heaved again. She was flirting with him. Liz wiped the vomit from her face and looked up through her hair. Scabior had approached Jenny, his head cocked to the side as he smiled down at her.

"And tell me, beautiful, did you ever think of me? Did you ever go back to your four-poster and draw the curtains, imagining me there with you?" His voice was soft, seductive and Liz was appalled to see Jenny's body responding, her chest thrust out slightly. She was enjoying this.

"Did you ever touch yourself, thinking about me?" the Snatcher continued before placing a finger on the blonde girl's lips. "Nah, don't tell me. Later, if you're a good girl, I'll let you show me," He smiled darkly before casting a glance over Liz. "I take it that one was a Hufflepuff? The chubby ones always are."

Laughter echoed around the trees again before Scabior cut it off with a series of barked commands.

"Ratter, get up the Ministry. Find out who their families are and that."

The fawning boy from the tree nodded once before twisting, the crack of his disapparation disturbing the birds above him.

"Greyback, check the tent, I want their wands and anything else you reckon is useful. Davey, keep Blondie comfortable, and Rowley, pick up Sleeping Beauty. Let's go home."

His grin was wide as he twisted too; vanishing, followed by Davey, still clutching Jenny to him. Liz was forced to her feet by the one Scabior had called Rowley, who kept a tight but carefully distant grip on her arm as he spun, pulling them from one place to another.

Seconds later, Liz was on her knees again, the aftermath of apparating forcing what little was left in her stomach out. She heard footsteps near her head, before a booted foot nudged her leg.

"Scabior says you're to get in the tent. Sleep it off," a voice grunted. "And 'e says you're to clean yourself up. No point trying to leg it, it's all warded and you'll get burned."

Liz looked up to see Rowley above her. She waited for him to hold out a hand to help her up, but he nodded towards a small, shabby tent before stalking away. Rising slowly to her feet, she passed a smouldering camp fire and two other, larger tents before stumbling through the flap of the one she'd been allocated. It was small, functional, with a single camp bed in the middle of the floor, an old wooden chest against one of the canvas sides. To her right, she could see a small bathroom, with no door, and it was into this she went first.

Her reflection in the mirror was every bit as bad as the Snatcher's comments had implied. Her normally shiny chestnut hair was in limp strings around her face, her skin-tone sallow and grey, the skin puffy with dehydration. Her eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark shadows and, despite her best efforts, she still had a string of drying vomit on her chin. She ran the tap into the cracked sink, rinsing her face, the water bringing back some feeling. There was a ribbon dangling from the candlestick beside the mirror and she took it, tying her hair back.

Walking more steadily now, she went back into the bedroom. One bed. Which meant Jenny would sleep… She didn't want to think about it, not now. The cover was thin, the pillow lumpy, but she sank into them with gratitude. For a moment she considered rising, shedding the layers of tights and leggings and jeans, vest tops, t-shirts and jumpers which had made them assume she was overweight. She'd put them on to ward out the cold in their tent, but this one was no warmer and the layers would add at least some protection against the men.

She was hesitant to close her eyes, worried about what would happen if she slept. She lay with her eyes open, thinking about her cousin, her mother, the events which had led them here, wondering what would happen when Ratter got back from the Ministry. Scabior had claimed Jenny, that much was clear and Jenny didn't seem to have too much of a problem with that. But where did that leave Liz? Surely, once their blood status was confirmed, they'd be released, unharmed? They weren't fugitives, they weren't Rebellion members. It was supposed to be fun. Liz wasn't having any fun.


	3. Chapter 2

They'd been so close, growing up, only a year between them. Liz couldn't remember a single day before Jenny went to Hogwarts that they'd been apart. The girls flitted between each other's houses, closer than sisters, exploring the village, attempting spells, learning complicated clapping games and trying to make their handstands last longer than each other's. They'd had a secret language, and even a den, a place where they'd lie next to each other hand-in-hand and talk about the future. They'd both be in Ravenclaw, like their fathers, and when they left they'd get jobs at Eeylops, working with the cats and owls before they married twin brothers and moved into houses next door to each other.

Opposites of each other, Liz's dark hair and eyes to Jenny's blonde and green, Liz's quiet thoughtfulness to Jenny's exuberance, together they were the same coin, each girl representing the opposite side. It was Jenny who'd egged Liz on, to 'borrow' her father's wand and try imitating spells, Jenny who was always looking for adventure. It had been Liz whose patience and calmness had aided them when they'd been lost in the small copse behind her home. Together they worked, balancing each other, complementing each other, one a leading light and the other her shadow.

Liz had been bereft when Jenny had gone to Hogwarts, and it had taken her a whole day and night to stop sobbing when she found out her cousin had been sorted into Slytherin. The entire family had been bemused, but once Liz had gotten over the shock, she questioned everyone she could find about what qualities a Slytherin needed, determined to get the plan back on track.

But then Jenny stopped replying to her frequent letters, and when she did bother the letters were full of talk of other people she'd met and the fun she was having with them. When she came home at Christmas, Liz almost didn't recognise her.

Jenny had cut her golden, waist-length hair into a short bob, she was taller and under her clothes her body had begun to change, her hips broadening into curves, her tight jumper proudly betraying where her breasts were beginning to grow. She ignored Liz, uninterested the secret language and the den. She spent most of the holiday in her room, writing to her new friends. The day after Christmas, she'd gone to stay with one of them, leaving Liz confused and scared. This wasn't in the plan.  
The following year, Liz had been sorted into Hufflepuff and she didn't miss the look of relief on her cousin's face when the Hat bellowed its decision across the Great Hall.

It continued like this, Jenny barely acknowledging her, always surrounded by a gang of sleek and haughty looking students in silver and green. Liz was relegated to spectator, watching as her cousin's girlish prettiness became beauty. While Liz stayed short, her own breasts small, her frame slim, she watched her cousin blossom into a woman, holding hands with a different boy every month.

In Liz's third year, Jenny's fourth, Liz's breakfast had been interrupted by a wail from the Slytherin table. She'd looked up to see tears streaming down her cousin's face, her friends patting her back. As Jenny had risen from her seat, running from the Great Hall, Liz had stood, without thinking, to follow. Her way had been barred by two Slytherin boys.

"What's wrong?" Liz had asked, panicked.

"What's it to you?"

"She's my cousin."

The boys conferred without speaking, before one of them volunteered "Her Dad's died,"

"Oh Merlin…" Liz had tried to skirt around them, desperate to get to Jenny but the boys had pushed her back.

"Leave her; we'll take care of her."

"He was my uncle!" Liz had protested, tears now streaming down her own face.

"She doesn't need you. She's one of us. She needs us."

When the news came that Liz's own father had died in her fifth year, Jenny hadn't even looked over at her.

Liz had been relieved when Jenny left, her final year at Hogwarts suddenly made her free. Her grades improved, she became closer to her housemates, she'd even had her first kiss. She'd never contemplated a life without Jenny before but she found to her surprise she liked it. She'd dreaded the tales her aunt and mother fed her, of Jenny gone wild, Jenny messing around with muggle narcotics, Jenny being spotted with known Death Eaters, her resentment growing with each story. Jenny was out there in the world, while she, Liz, stayed at home with her mother, working part time in Eeylops, her frame still boyish, her hair still long. Though she didn't think she truly wanted the life that Jenny had, she still found herself burning with jealousy late at night. Jenny had somehow entered a world of glamour and danger, while she cleaned up owl droppings before falling asleep in her childhood bed.

It wasn't until Jenny was arrested by aurors that the two had started speaking again. Jenny had been at a party, back before the Ministry had fallen. A group of wannabe Death Eaters, one of whom Jenny was sleeping with, had taken some muggles from a pub and were torturing them when the aurors arrived. Jenny swore she wasn't part of it, that she didn't know what they were doing. She'd cried prettily in the courtroom, collapsing when they told her she'd be released back into the care of her family. When Jenny's mother had said she wanted nothing to do with her daughter, Liz's mother had stepped in and promised to keep Jenny on the straight and narrow.

For three nights, Jenny had slept on the floor of Liz's room, silent and pensive. On the fourth, she started talking. She told Liz about the parties, the clothes, the men. The way she was expected to show up and just look beautiful, the way they'd showered her with compliments and gifts. Liz had listened, disgusted, first at her cousin and then at herself for wondering what it was like. She imagined herself in a long, tight velvet dress, men plying her with drinks, asking her to dance, showing her off, hanging onto her every word.

Jenny told Liz that she didn't believe in the Death Eaters ideals, didn't want to be one, but that they had all the money. Gone was the girl who wanted to work in a pet shop, here was the woman who wanted to land a rich husband and be taken care of. She'd started sneaking out at night, begging Liz to cover for her while she went out to meet what was left of her old gang. She told Liz she had no idea how many men she'd slept with, but she liked it, liked the power over them. When the Ministry had fallen and Liz's mother had gone into hiding, Jenny had started bringing her boyfriends back to the house, dragging them into Liz's room and closing the door behind them. Liz had taken to sleeping in her parent's old room.

The camping trip had been Jenny's idea. Liz hadn't wanted to go, afraid that Jenny was planning a party with her friends. Jenny swore she wasn't, it would just be the two of them having a little holiday, getting back to 'what was real'. Since she'd broken up with her last boyfriend, she'd been subdued and quiet, not leaving the house at night. They'd packed food and clothes for a week, picked up more Firewhiskey than they could reasonably drink and headed out to the woods, Liz on edge the whole time, waiting for a gang of Death Eaters to show up. But it hadn't happened. She and Jenny had sat and talked and laughed and it had been almost like the old days. On the night of Jenny's actual birthday, they'd opened the Firewhiskey and got drunk, far drunker than Liz had ever been.

The last thing she remembered Jenny saying to her before she collapsed in her tent was "There's supposed to be Snatchers in these woods. I've never met a Snatcher. How exciting would that be?"

Liz had passed out before she could respond.


	4. Chapter 3

Liz woke to someone poking her in the side. "'E says you're to get up now,' Rowley practically bellowed in her ear. 'Ratter's back and Scabior wants to talk to you.'

Liz waited until she heard the tent flap rasp as the man passed through it before she sat up. Surprisingly, she had slept and felt much better for it. Kicking her legs over the side of the bed, she stood and headed back to the bathroom, cupping her hands to drink mouthful after mouthful of cold water from the tap. She rinsed her face again and used her finger to brush her teeth. Glancing in the mirror she noted that she had a little more colour in her cheeks, though her eyes were still shadowed. Still, that Ratter man was back, so they'd be going home soon. She could have a bath then, before crawling into her own bed. Relieved that she was relatively unharmed, she left the tent.

The Snatchers were sitting on logs around the now-crackling fire, looking like sinister, overgrown boy scouts on a camping trip. To Liz's horror, her cousin was sprawled across Scabior's lap, one of his hands splayed possessively along her thigh. The others were leering at the sight, while Scabior examined a piece or parchment.

"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,' Scabior called as Liz approached them. She perched on the end of a log, as far away from the others as she could. "Reckon you can control your stomach now? 'Ere, Rowley, I 'ope you didn't have to kiss her to wake her up.' They laughed and Liz felt her cheeks burn as she pulled her hair from the ribbon to cloak her face.

"Right," Scabior continued, his hand leaving Jenny's thigh to absently grope her breast. Liz watched in horrified fascination as Jenny tried to stop him, receiving a slap across the back of hand for her pains. She withdrew, ducking her face against his shoulder and he continued to paw at her as he read from his parchment.

"Meet Jeanette 'Jenny' Fawley, newly turned twenty three. Daddy's dead, poor thing and Mummy claims she ain't got no daughter," he tutted and shook his head in mock sympathy. "Pureblood, Slytherin, as she said. No job to speak of; lives in a village just outside Oxford with her cousin," he smirked at Liz, who looked away. "Got 'erself in a bit of a scrape with the Ministry last April, partying with Death Eaters." He paused while the Snatchers cheered, waggling his eyebrows theatrically. "Seems she likes bad boys, ain't that grand for us. And we've also got Miss Elizabeth Fawley, twenty two, former Hufflepuff – I knew it. Works in Eeylops part time, another one with a dead dad, what are the women in your family, Black Widows? Muggle mother… Oooooh, mistake. But not on the wanted list. So what do we do with you?"

Liz held her breath. Surely he was just toying with them? Surely he'd let them go?

"Standard procedure," a low voice rumbled from Liz's right. Greyback had spoken.

"Indeed," Scabior agreed and the men laughed.

"So we're going home then?" Liz finally found her voice.

"It speaks," said Scabior. "Well I never. It's rude, though. What do you want to go home for? We ain't celebrated Jenny's birthday yet. Got to have a party for your birthday, ain't you? And I've got to give her my present." He squeezed Jenny, eliciting a squeal from her and laughter from his men.

"And then we can go?" Liz pushed.

Scabior narrowed his eyes. "I thought the ugly ones were supposed to be more fun. Ain't they supposed to develop a personality to make up for it? You'll go when I say you can, Princess. I'm in charge, round 'ere. "

Liz's eyes widened. "What's 'Standard Procedure'?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

Scabior smiled. "See, if you was mudbloods or wanted, we'd take you to the Ministry and pick up our gold. If you was muggles, we'd kill you," he shrugged as his eyes lit with malice. "And if you was anyone else and there was anyone who was missing you, we'd take you home. But there ain't, is there? So we go to option four," he paused. When she didn't ask, he answered the unspoken question. "And option four, my dove, is we keep you for a bit. You get to help take care of us. Bit of cooking and cleaning, nowt too strenuous. Oh yeah, and we fuck you," he spat the word at her "and when we're bored of fucking you, we wipe your memories and then we get rid of you. That's option four. So tell me, Princess, which one of my boys takes your fancy?"

Liz stared at him in mute horror. He couldn't be serious, this was illegal. Surely the Ministry, Aurors, somebody would stop this. She looked around at the men, hoping desperately for a sign this was a joke. "You can't…" she began.

"Can I not?" he replied. "And who's going to stop me? The Ministry, maybe? No petal, I hate to burst your bubble, but who do you reckon sends us out here? They know what we do. Perks of the job, as it were. You ain't no-one special, Princess. Ain't no-one going to come and look for you. And it ain't like you're going to be remembering it after, so what are you complaining about? You should be grateful, a few hot nights might shift some of that flab."

Liz's cheeks reddened further, tears stinging her eyes.

"Who wants her?" Scabior asked. "Ratter? Rowley? Davey? None of you? Merlin, that's a first. What about you Greyback, you ain't normally that fussy?"

"I'll wait 'til you're done with the blonde," the werewolf growled.

Jenny looked up in horror, almost clinging to Scabior as though he'd pass her over there and then. The Snatcher's face was alive with mirth, grinning at Liz.

"Never thought I'd see the day… Live and learn, eh? So, Princess, seems like you won't be getting to experience the carnal joys of a horny snatcher at present. What are we going to do with you? Can you cook?"

She shook her head.

"You'd better learn, and sharpish, then. One thing to keep dead weight around if I'm poking it, quite another if I ain't. You'd best make yourself useful. You can start now. We're having a party in two hours. Greyback?" he looked at the werewolf who rose and left the group. When he returned, he dropped a pile of dead rabbits at Liz's feet before taking his place back on the log.

"Off you go, Princess. I've got to get myself spruced up," he stood, depositing Jenny on the log roughly. "And you, birthday girl. Go and pop on your party dress. There's stuff in the little tent your cousin was in."

He leered at Jenny before heading into his tent, closing it behind him. The rest of the Snatcher's followed suit, vanishing into another. Liz looked at Jenny, tears pouring down her face, both from humiliation and fear. For a second, her cousin's expression echoed her own before she saw Jenny's face harden. She shrugged almost defiantly at Liz, before going to the tent Liz had previously evacuated. Liz stared at the fire, paralysed with fear.


	5. Chapter 4

Scabior sank into the battered armchair he kept in his tent and surveyed his kingdom. The double bed was unmade, the table covered in pieces of parchment containing details and lists about their snatches. He pulled out his wand, summoning a bottle of his prisoner's confiscated Firewhiskey and catching it neatly as it soared towards him. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and drank long, slow draughts before propping it between his legs, his handsome face relaxing as the alcohol burned its way into his stomach. From his pocket he pulled a packet of muggle cigarettes and lit one with his wand. He was bored.

Snatching wasn't quite the life he'd thought it would be. When he was pulled out of Azkaban and frogmarched to Umbridge, he'd thought this was his big chance. The old toad had gone about prestige and glory and a chance to climb the ranks. What fucking ranks? In the four months he'd been doing this, he'd become the best, no question. And for what? Five Galleons a pop, ten if he was lucky. And that had to be split. No-one had come calling for Scabior to offer him a better gig. Not even the Death Eaters, and they weren't even that picky anymore, look at Greyback. Not that he was sure about being one; he didn't fancy answering to anyone else, especially not someone like The Dark Lord. Much as Scabior preferred life under his regime, he'd heard enough tales of The Dark Lord turning on his foot-soldiers and that wasn't something he wanted to be on the receiving end of.

He took a drag of the cigarette, flicking the ash onto the floor. This was boring. Sleeping in a fucking tent, night after night, spending his days looking for dopey kids to slap about before he shopped them. Even Greyback, the supposedly fearsome child-killing werewolf, was a disappointment. He was happiest sitting on his arse, plaiting his chest hair. Oh, he'd put on a good enough show when he had to, but there wasn't half as much mayhem as Scabior had expected when they'd been teamed up. The rest were next to useless, he was convinced Davey was simple, Rowley was almost nice, and Ratter… Well, Scabior was sure if he told Ratter to get on his knees and suck his cock, the boy would be down with his mouth wide open before he'd had chance to blink.

Even sex was boring now. Too many desperate little sluts, willing to spread their legs because they thought it would get them out of trouble. At first it had thrilled him, the way their eyes would widen when he suggested there might be a way to avoid the Ministry. It was a lie of course, he'd lay them down, screw them until they screamed his name and then take them in anyway. But still, it had once been fun. Now it was easy. Everything was easy.

He finished the cigarette, grinding it out under his boot before vanishing the stub and the pile of ash he'd created. If he was honest, the idea of going out there tonight made him want to throw up like the fat girl had. He'd rather go into London, go to the Cauldron and see what was going on. Anything to avoid the tedious theatrics of pretending to want to fuck the blonde girl. Oh, he would, of course he would. But he was doing her a favour.

Idly, he wondered what it would be like to bring her cousin to his bed instead. He'd slept with bigger girls before, in truth he preferred a bit of meat on his women. There was something almost decadent about sinking into the soft embrace of a fleshier woman, resting his head between large breasts, his pelvis between ample thighs. It was almost comforting. Better than pounding away at some skeletal slag and bruising his hips. He'd bet Jenny was a moaner, he hated moaners. Whereas Elizabeth… He'd bet she gasped. He wondered if she swore, there was something about a girl swearing softly under him that really got to him. Had she ever even done it? He made a mental note to find out. It'd been a while since he broke a virgin, and if she was cleaned up a bit and he got drunk enough, he might be able to seduce the reproach from her eyes.

He hated that. At first, he'd been amazed she wasn't scared of him, before he'd realised just how hung-over she was. Pretty hard for anything to override that kind of feeling, he knew that well enough. But around the fire, she'd looked at him and it had almost been disdain. As if she were in a position to look down on him. Usually, there was lust in the gazes of the women he met, even if they were afraid, they still wanted him. There'd been fear in the girl's eyes, oh yes, but not the begging kind. Not yet. He was used to the begging kind. He wondered if he could crack her, what it would take to make her plead.

He imagined her on her knees before him, begging him, saying she'd do anything. In his daydream, he smiled down at her before opening the buttons of his trousers. "Suck it" he'd say and she would, wrapping her lips around him, raising a hand to fondle his balls. He'd stop her before he came, bending her over, driving into her from behind, his hands massaging her tits, gripping her hips, watching the rolls of flesh wobble as he slammed into her.

He was surprised to realise he was hard, his cock straining against the crotch of his trousers, and he chuckled aloud. Fancy him getting aroused over the idea of nailing some grubby, hung-over fat bird he'd found in the woods. Still, it was different. And different wasn't boring. He debated for a moment whether to relieve himself, but decided to save it for Jenny. At least now he knew what he could think about if Blondie didn't float his boat. Feeling slightly better about the evening, he picked the whiskey back up and took a sip, before thinking about what to wear.

Liz was panicking. She couldn't cook this stuff, she had no idea where to begin. She'd spent the last half an hour staring at the pile of corpses. She didn't even know how to skin a rabbit, much less cook one. What would he do if he came out and there wasn't food? Would he beat her? Curse her? Kill her? And where was Jenny, why was she going along with this? Did she want to sleep with that man? Or was this part of a plan? What if – what if this was part of the birthday? What if that was the reason she'd wanted to camp, to meet up with these men? Angered, Liz rose and marched to the tent, barging in to find Jenny pulling lurid red and black dresses from the chest by the wall.

"Did you know about this?" she asked her. "Is this your doing?"

"Excuse me?"

"This. Being kidnapped. The party. Do you know them? Are they your friends?"

"I've never seen them before in my life."

"Well, then we've got to get out of here. They're snatchers. If we go now, while they're distracted, we might make it."

"It's warded. And they've got our wands anyway."

"How do we know it's warded,' Liz said. "They might just be saying that to stop us from even trying."

"Scabior showed me. While you were sleeping. He threw an apple at the wards. It fried. To a crisp. So no thanks."

"Do you want to be here?" Liz asked, incredulous.

"No, of course not. I told you, I don't know them."

"Really? Because you seem very cosy with what's-his-face."

Jenny shrugged. "I've never met them before. I've heard of him, though."

"Is that why we're here? Did you want this to happen? You said last night about there being Snatchers, is that it? Because if it is, you tell them to let me go. You tell them now. I don't care what you do, but I'm not doing it. You can do what you like, but I won't."

"Grow up, Liz," Jenny snapped. "I'm not that happy to be here either, in a camp with a load of tramps and a werewolf, but I'm making the best of it. You heard what he said, once they've had their fun, they'll Obliviate us and send us home."

"And you're fine with that?" Liz asked in disbelief.

"Seeing as I don't have a choice, yeah. What would you rather, that they just kill us or that we make the most of it and go home safely later?"

"I'd rather we weren't here at all," Liz fumed.

"Well, we are, so stop being so naïve. It could be worse, that's all I'm saying. He's not making you do anything with anyone, all you have to do is cook some sodding rabbits."

Liz bit back her retort. She hated this, hated it, but Jenny had a point. Although they'd been taken from their tent very much against their will, the snatchers hadn't actually done anything to hurt them. Merlin, they'd even let her sleep off her hangover. Maybe Jenny was right, maybe she'd be better off staying quiet and doing as they asked. Slowly, she nodded and Jenny smiled.

"I bet we'll be home within a week, with just some odd stories to tell."

"Not if they Obliviate us."

"True. Although, if he's as good as I've heard he is, I might ask him to let me keep the memories," Jenny grinned.

"Jen, do you want to sleep with him?"

The blonde woman shrugged. "He's good looking. And it's not as if it's my first time. As I said, he's supposed to be good. So where's the harm?"

Liz stared at her cousin, who turned away under Liz's scrutiny, rifling back through the clothes. Slowly, Liz left the tent, her mind reeling. How could that Jenny, the Jenny who was talking casually about going to bed with a man who'd kidnapped them, be the same girl who used to cry during a thunderstorm?

All thoughts of how much her cousin had changed left her head when she realised one of the Snatchers was standing over the pile of rabbits she'd abandoned.


	6. Chapter 5

Rowley turned as Liz approached. "'E won't be happy if you don't sort this out. And it ain't fun to be on his bad side."

"I don't know how," she said. "I don't know how to skin one, or chop one up, or cook one. I don't even have a knife. Or a pot. Or anything."

The younger snatcher stared at her for a moment, twisting his mouth from one side to the other before he walked off. Liz's face crumpled, if he told Scabior, if he fetched Scabior, she was as good as dead. She heard footsteps behind her and closed her eyes, only to open them when someone shoved a pot full of water against her chest.

"Sit," Rowley said, sinking to the floor in front of her.

Mutely, she copied him, watching in fascination as he pointed his wand at the rabbits. Within seconds the pile of furry bodies had become chunks of meat, the skins and bones vanished.

"I was the cook, before," Rowley offered by way of explanation. "You need to stick the rabbit in the water when it's hot. Here," he tossed a small foil wrapped package at her. "Add that to it. There's vegetables and that over in the basket by your tent. Pick what you like and add it in. Then just stir it. Should make a stew, of sorts."

She meant to thank him, but instead she blurted out "Why? Why are you helping me?"

Rowley shrugged. "I'm hungry. And we ain't had nowt all day. This way, at least I know it'll be half decent. Get the veggies, potatoes and that and add them to the pot. It needs to go on the fire first, don't add nothing 'til the water's hot. Then add all the shit and just keep stirring it."

Liz nodded. "Thanks," she said and received a curt nod in response. She hung the pot over the fire and scurried off to collect the remaining ingredients, finding a small, mostly blunt knife on the ground where she'd been sitting. She wiped it off as best she could on her trousers before she set to peeling.

An hour later, the mixture in the pot smelled distinctly food-like, and Liz felt inordinately proud of what she'd done. Best of all, she didn't need to worry about it being poisoned; she hadn't left the fire since she'd added the ingredients. To her added surprise, despite the events of the day she was hungry. As night fell, she toyed with the idea of brushing her hair, getting changed or doing something to tidy herself up. She decided against it, not wanting any of the Snatchers, not even the surprisingly kind Rowley, to start thinking of her as a girl. Instead she stirred the stew, planning to stay in the shadows as much as she could. Let them forget she was there.

Scabior was pleasantly drunk. He'd changed from the plaid trousers into an equally tight black pair, replacing his leather waistcoat with a slightly cleaner one. He'd loosed his hair from its ribbon, allowing it to fall over his shoulders. He smiled into the mirror, pleased with his appearance as he smeared more kohl around his eyes. Jenny was a very lucky girl, he decided. There weren't many who'd turn him down looking as he did.

He left the tent, seeing only Liz crouched in front of the fire. Silently, he approached her, dropping down to sit next to her. Startled, she dropped the spoon into the stew, liquid splattering onto the ground.

Scabior looked deliberately down at his trousers, before looking at her.

"You're lucky, Princess. If you'd got any of that on my kecks, you'd be licking them clean." She didn't reply, ducking her head so her hair remained a shield between them. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, you ignorant cow," he spat. "Did you hear me? You're lucky."

She looked up at him slowly and he felt his abdomen tighten when her gaze finally met his, stunned to realise she had beautiful eyes, soft chocolate brown, slightly angled upwards. He'd save that memory for later, too. He held her gaze for a moment, before she looked away.

"I heard you," she said softly.

"Be more careful," he said, standing and summoning his whiskey. "Boys, come on. The Princess has cooked something that don't smell like shit, so can we get on?"

The others emerged from the tent, looking pathetically primped, their hair slicked back, their shirts fresh and Scabior felt an almost-paternal pride in his rag-tag crew. Finally, Jenny slipped through the gap in the tent, clad in a tight, black dress that showed her curved frame off to maximum effect. The Snatchers whistled and cat-called and with a grin Scabior crossed over to her and pulled her against his chest. His mouth swooped on hers, kissing her with unabashed propriety, his hands roaming her body.

"Looks like it's my birthday too," he winked at Liz, who looked away from him, her face burning.

As the moon rose above them, the party became more raucous. The food had long since been eaten, and while no-one praised Liz for it, no-one had rejected it either. They'd since moved on to drinking heavily, each of them clutching a bottle of what Liz assumed was the Firewhiskey she and Jenny had brought with them. Rowley was sitting with Ratter, exchanging stories about girls they'd slept with, rating them out of ten for looks and performance, though Liz suspected Ratter's, at least, were all made up. Greyback had disappeared without word into the night and Davey was sitting, apparently asleep, propped up against a log. Scabior had Jenny pinned against another log, but Jenny wasn't complaining, either too drunk or too lustful to care. Liz hadn't touched a drop, the smell making her stomach churn, and she sat in the shadows, wishing desperately she was anywhere else. She watched as Scabior's hand slipped under Jenny's dress, her cousin moaning wantonly at his touch, watching him smile as he stroked her, licking her neck, Jenny's fingers winding into the snatchers dark hair. He didn't seem to care who could see them, and Liz wondered whether they'd just do it there, in the camp, with everyone watching.

Deciding she didn't want to see it, she rose, skirting around them, aiming for her tent when Scabior's voice rang out, apparently not as absorbed in his task as he'd seemed.

"Where you going, Princess? The fun's about to start."

"I was… tired," Liz managed to get out, turning back to him.

"Tough," he sat up, not bothering to cover Jenny. "We're going to play a game."

Liz froze. "What game?"

"It's a muggle game. Called Spin the Bottle. We all sit around nicely and take it in turns to spin a bottle. If it lands on you, the spinner gets to ask you a question. If you don't answer it, you've got to do a dare. It's fun."

All eyes turned to Liz and she shook her head. "I'd rather not…"

Scabior's eyes narrowed. "Do I look like a man who gives a fuck what you'd rather? Sit down. We're playing. It'll be nice. We can all get to know each other."

Liz briefly fantasised about running, before giving in. The others formed a circle and she sat next to Rowley, Jenny slumping into the spot beside her. Scabior sat opposite her, his eyes dark and shadowed in the firelight. He pulled a bottle towards him, draining the last of the amber liquid before placing it on the ground.

"I'll go first," he said, spinning the bottle. For a heart-stopping moment, Liz thought it would be her but it stopped on Jenny. "Blondie, your question is… Would you rather let Ratter take you up the arse or suck Greyback off?"

Jenny snorted with laughter and Liz closed her eyes. "Ratter, any day," she slurred and Ratter grinned.

"You're in there, son," Scabior said, pushing the bottle towards Jenny. "You're up, gorgeous."

She spun the bottle ineptly and it landed on Scabior. "Am I the prettiest girl you've ever been with?"

"No," he said bluntly, earning a laugh from the others and a pout from Jenny. "Me again." He span and this time it did land on Liz. There was a sharp intake of breath from her left and she squeezed her eyes closed for a second.

"Have anyone ever fucked you, Princess? Are you a virgin?" Scabior asked, grinning.

Liz took a deep breath. "No. I'm not," she registered the surprise on Scabior's face, relieved until Jenny spoke.

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not," Liz repeated emphatically.

"Yes you are, we were just talking about it last night."

"So you lied…" Scabior smiled nastily. "A lie is an automatic forfeit. You get a dare now. So, Princess, show us your tits."

Liz shook her head, horrified.

"Fair's fair, you lied. That's a forfeit. So get them out," Scabior sat back and stared at her. "Either you get them out, or I'll think of something else."

Liz stared at him for a full minute before she stood, turning and running. She ran blindly through the trees, stopping only when she remembered the wards. She skidded to a stop, her heart pounding, waiting for the sounds of footsteps behind her. But none came. Her legs shaking, she sank to the floor, unable to stop herself from trembling. That vile, vile man… She stayed there for a long time, alert to the sound of anyone coming after her, to drag her back.

Finally, when the realisation she had nowhere else to go became an inescapable fact, she started to head back to the camp, treading softly and skirting alongside the trees. The camp was deserted when she got there, the bottles abandoned on the floor, no sign of the occupants. Listening, she realised she could hear faint snores coming from one of the larger tents. As relief flooded her, she felt her legs starting to shake again and she stumbled, as silently as she could towards her tent.

Once inside, she dove for the bed, wrapping the covers around her, shivering. She didn't care how she did it, but she had to get away. Let Jenny stay, if that's what she wanted. Liz just wanted to go home. She closed her eyes, only for them to fly open a moment later.

From the tent beside hers, she could hear the sounds of rhythmic creaking, the slap of flesh against flesh and she coloured. Her blushes deepened when her cousin started moaning loudly. He hadn't even bothered to charm the tent. Jenny's moans got louder, the creaking faster when all of a sudden Scabior spoke.

"Stop making that fucking noise. You're putting me off."

"I though blokes liked it?"

"Just shut it," Scabior grunted and the moans died away. Liz pulled the pillow over her head to block out the rest of the sounds.


	7. Chapter 6

Scabior had thought of Liz as he'd thrust inside Jenny. He'd turned the girl onto her stomach in the end, annoyed with her attempts to kiss him, her trying to drag her fingernails down his back. Alcohol had made her sloppy and loose and he was having trouble keeping his erection. Until he started to think of her cousin; the memory of her eyes on his, the pink rising on her cheeks. His ardour renewed, he continued to pound into Jenny, imagining her to be Liz, the virgin, letting him take her for the first time. It was all ruined when she started to moan like a sow in labour and he'd had to tell her to shut up so he could finish. Once he had, he rolled off her unceremoniously and lit a cigarette, brooding in the darkness. Was the other one still out there, alone in the woods? He should have gone after her, he could have had her tonight if he'd played his cards right. He looked over at where Jenny was now snoring lightly. Jenny was boring.

The following morning the snatchers assembled far earlier than they ought to be able to, given how much they had drank the night before. Scabior went through the list for the day and the territory they needed to cover. They broke their fast like a band of brothers, sitting around the fire, jesting about Scabior's night. He'd smiled through it, enjoying their envy, describing the encounter cruelly. "Like chucking a welly down Knockturn Alley," he grinned, earning laughter and slaps on the back. After they'd gone, he sat thoughtfully for a moment, before scrawling a note and disapparating.

When Liz woke, light streamed through the open tent flap and she groaned, ducking her head under the covers. It wasn't a dream, then. She lay in the small bed, listening again for sounds of life, before she rose, peeping out. The camp was empty, though there was something by over fire… She approached it and gazed in horror at what was there. A small pig, its head still attached was held up by a makeshift spit. Pinned to it was a note in elegant handwriting, which simply said 'Don't fuck it up.'

"What is tha- oh Merlin," Jenny had emerged from Scabior's tent and had her hand held over her mouth, trying not to vomit at the sight of the pig.

"Present from your boyfriend," Liz said darkly. "Dinner, I suppose. They've gone, I think. We're alone."

"Good, I must look awful. I don't want him seeing me like this."

Liz stared at her in horror.

"What?" Jenny was defensive. "What about you, anyway, running off? He was only joking; he doesn't want to see them. They all think you're fat. Why are you letting them think that?"

"Because I don't want them to touch me," Liz hissed. "They disgust me."

"What if they find out? They're not going to let you keep wearing the same clothes all the time."

"I doubt they'll care."

Jenny shrugged and turned back to the tent and Liz stared at the pig. If she could just last the week, they'd get bored and she could go. That was all she needed to do. Keep her head down and do what they asked her to.

Rowley had raved over the pig later that night, carving both second and third helpings from it, though he avoided the charred parts. Liz had no idea what she was doing, but she'd lit the fire with the matches they'd left and she'd turned the pig all day long, rubbing oil and salt from the basket into its skin, her eyes stinging from the smoke, sweating into her clothes from the heat. No-one else said a word, but twice she'd caught Scabior staring at her, his eyes hooded. He'd ignored Jenny when she sat beside him, shrugging her hand off his arm. Finally, he'd stalked into his tent, closing the flap, leaving Jenny embarrassed and alone. Liz assumed she must have gone to him later on, because again she fell asleep to the sound of creaking bedsprings.

The first week became a second, then a third, and then a whole month had passed in the same pattern; Liz would wake in the morning to find food left out for her to cook and she'd busy herself making it, tidying the camp, only for the men to come back and strew their belongings everywhere. Jenny would rise in the early afternoon and sashay around, smirking, smoking any cigarettes Scabior had left her, drinking whatever alcohol was around, watching Liz work furiously. She seemed to be enjoying herself at least, dressing up in the outfits from the box, showing no dismay despite the fact she was wandless and essentially a prisoner. She'd started to imitate Scabior's speech and it set Liz's teeth on edge whenever she spoke. Liz asked her when they'd be able to go, begging her to talk to Scabior, to find something out, but Jenny just shrugged. She was enjoying this life, living in the woods, dressing up like a gangster's moll and waiting for Scabior and his gang to return. Sometimes he bought her little trinkets, things he'd taken from the women he'd rounded up that day. Tubes of lipstick, brooches, rings, he'd toss them to her and Jenny would coo as Liz served the meal, passing it out silently. Every night, she'd hear them rutting in the tent next door and she'd close her eyes and try to pretend she was at home, safe.

As the air grew colder and November turned into December, Liz began to allow the grease and salt to accumulate on her skin. She'd never been this dirty before in her life, her hair was lank, her skin dark from the dirt and sweat. But she left it. Let her leg and armpit hair grow, refusing to wash. Knowing each layer made her more repulsive. She stank and she knew it. But it didn't stop him staring at her and that sent shivers down her spine. She'd begun to be able to tell where he was in the camp, based on which part of her body tingled. She could feel his eyes on her, assessing her and it terrified her. She'd done everything he'd told her, she cooked, she cleaned and she stayed quiet, sitting alone. And yet he watched her, his face blank as he did.

He was sitting alone on a log, having left the others to the business at the Ministry. It had been a good haul, in truth it had been a good month. Screwing the blonde had gotten easier, once he'd taught her to keep her mouth shut. The food had been passable, and the camp was tidy enough. One thing to say about Elizabeth, she learnt pretty sharpish not to let the fire go out, making her infinitely cleverer than the last girl he'd had there. He pulled out his knife, wiping rust coloured stains from it and picking up a stone, striking the blade against its surface, sharpening it. His first indication she was there was the smell.

He turned, his nose wrinkling as he looked her up and down slowly, his gaze indecent. Liz involuntarily crossed her arms and he smiled maliciously. "Yeah?"

"It's been a month - I mean, when can we go? Or me, if Jenny wants to stay. I'm sure she does," she added hurriedly.

Scabior looked up at her, the knife glinting in his hand before he plunged it into the ground. He stood, towering over her. "Come again?"

"When can I go home?" she asked again, her voice soft.

"Ah, yeah. Well, the simple answer is, when I fucking say so."

"When will that be?"

His eyebrows flickered upwards. "Did I stutter, Princess? Because I'm pretty fucking sure that I spoke clearly and concisely. I enunciated right, did I not? So pray, explain why you felt you had to repeat the question?"

"I don't know… I'm sorry, it's fine."

"Oh how gracious you are, your highness," he stepped towards her, affecting a mocking bow, "As long as it's fine with you, all will be well in the kingdom. Is that how it is?"

"No," she stepped back, and again when he moved to close the gap. "I'm sorry."

"No you ain't, Princess. And you'd better hope I don't decide to make you sorry. Because believe me when I tell you it will not be pleasant. Now, off you fuck. The boys will be back soon, and they'll be hungry. And that's what you're here for. Until I decide otherwise."

Liz turned and began to walk to the fire, torn between anger and fear. "Prick," she muttered, and then screamed as her hair was torn backwards. Scabior held it in an iron grip, yanking at her scalp.

"Repeat that," he said.

Tears spiked in her eyes, "I didn't-" The slap cracked across her face, sending her vision white for a moment as she staggered from the force.

"Don't bother. I heard well enough," he pulled the hair again, grinning horribly when she moaned. "Let me tell you a little story, Princess. When I was a boy, my old mum had to work very hard to keep the gold coming in. Now, turns out that there were folks who didn't reckon her line of work was reputable and they decided, on my behalf, that I'd be best off elsewhere. They took me to a lovely little cottage where there was plenty of other boys and girls my age to play with. Sounds charming, don't it? He paused as he lit a cigarette. "Where was I? Oh yeah – one big happy family, ruled over by a lady we called Matron. And do you know what Matron did if she heard you saying a bad word? She'd take you to the kitchen and she'd put soap in your mouth to wash out the badness.

"So, Princess, the next time I hear you saying a bad word, to me or any of my men, that's what's going to happen," he leaned into her face, blowing cigarette smoke into her eyes, "I will wash your dirty little mouth out, you fat bitch. And then I'll slap you anyway. This is your only warning," He let go suddenly and she crumpled at his feet. She watched as the boots walked away, as the knife was pulled from the ground, hearing the sound of him resuming sharpening it. She rose as quickly as she could and ran for her tent, past Jenny who had watched the whole exchange with a blank look on her face. Once in the relative safety of her tent, Liz sank to the floor, sobbing silently

He summoned her out an hour later, the imprint of his palm still visible on her face like a brand and she felt each of the snatchers stare at it as she served them their meal. The food was awful, she'd had to scrape it, burnt and dried from the bottom of the pan and she could feel his eyes on her as she sat on the floor, pushing her portion around her bowl. She flinched when he stood, again watching his boots stomp towards her. She braced herself for a kick, or a punch. Instead she felt the warmth of the congealing food landing in her hair. Someone laughed, but the sound cut off quickly. The meat and gravy dripped down the back of her neck, in her ear and she felt tears well up in her eyes.

"This don't happen again, Princess, understand?" he said softly.

She nodded, too afraid to speak, only exhaling when his boots turned away. "Don't worry about eating this shit, lads. Get your coats, we're going out."

"What about me?" Liz heard Jenny ask.

"You'll stay here."

"But –"

"What is it about the women in your family not knowing when to shut it?" he bellowed the last two words at Jenny. "Is that why all the menfolk died off? Were they nagged to death? You're staying here. End of."

Liz heard Jenny sniffle and felt a spark of triumph. Now she would see what he was like. Now they could plan their escape.

"Get this shit cleaned up," Scabior spoke again before stalking off. Liz didn't look up until she'd heard the last of the five cracks meaning the men had gone. When she did, Jenny was glaring at her.

"Thanks a lot," she spat at Liz, before going back into Scabior's tent.

The next fortnight was hellish. Scabior would sneer at Liz every time he saw her, throwing his food at her when it didn't meet his standards, laughing as she ran for the cover of her tent. He took it out on the people they caught, punching the men hard, kicking them once they were down, over and over, breaking bones and spirits. He Crucioed the women in front of their husbands or friends, no mercy, no pity as he watched them scream under his wand before they were hauled away. He took it out on Jenny at night, imagining punishing Liz the way he punished Jenny. He pinned her to the bed roughly, raising bruises, biting her, once even slapping her hard across the arse. But her flesh didn't ripple alluringly when he did, she didn't cry out in fear or rage. She took it all, gasping for more from him and every time she did, his anger towards Liz grew, as if she were responsible for it. .


	8. Chapter 7

Four nights before Christmas, he left his tent, desperate for air. The tent reeked of sex and the smell of it was choking him, so he'd grabbed his cigarettes and burst into the frozen night. She was there, poking at the fire, trying to add enough fuel to keep it going until morning. He watched her for a moment, torn between wanting to punch her and wanting to fuck her. She stood when she heard the rasp of the cigarette lighting and paled. She nodded jerkily and scuttled to the tent, but he moved faster, blocking the entrance.

They stared at each other for a moment, before he flung the cigarette to the side. His eyes on hers, he leaned in slowly and she was trapped, mesmerised like prey before a snake, only able to watch his face come closer to hers. He was a heartbeat away from her lips, her hands clenched in fists by her side when he wrinkled his nose and reared back.

"Fucking hell. You stink. What's wrong with you?"

Liz coloured. "I… I don't know where to get clean," she lied easily.

"You should've asked. Seriously, have you not washed at all for the last six odd weeks? That is fucking disgusting, Princess, get it sorted out. You reek like something Greyback would bring home," he looked at her, clearly appalled, before turning back to his tent. As he opened the flap he turned back. "Tomorrow, there's a lake, to the west. That's left to you. You go and you clean yourself up. Get some new clothes. Burn that lot. Because if I come back and you're still in that state, I'll fucking scrub you myself."

She stared at his retreating back, shaking.

There was no food left out for her to prepare the following morning. Instead there was a bag with another note pinned to it, demanding that she 'Get it sorted'. She opened the bag, not too surprised to see it contained a range of body cleaning products. Every bottle was at least half empty, and she shuddered to think of whom they'd belonged to and why they'd been left behind. It seemed Scabior had tossed whatever he could find into the bag and so she went through it, discarding anything that smelt too floral or pleasant. She nearly caved in over a bottle of honey and vanilla shower gel, it was her favourite and the smell made her dizzy with homesickness. But she rallied, soon enough, pushing it aside and replacing it with a generic 'no scent' soap. She debated over shaving briefly, before she decided the itching of the hair was incentive enough and she added the razor to the fragrance-free items she'd selected. She would not be alluring. She would not remind them she was a girl. She would be sexless and silent. She would be patient and it would be fine.

She despaired at the dressing up box, rejecting garment after garment, the overt sexuality of every item repulsing her. She'd sunk to the floor, about to give up when she recalled Scabior's threat. He would as well; she could see it in him. He'd relish stripping her and scrubbing her, poking at her. She could imagine the leer on his face as he peeled off her layers, revealing her slight form instead of the plump one he expected. Then the insults would change, picking on her tiny breasts, her lack of curves. He'd pinch and slap and parade her in front of the others. This was enough to renew her search and a short while later she'd found a simple bra and plain, clean cotton pants, bizarrely still with the price label attached, and a long kaftan –style garment. There were no trousers, but the robe-type shift was voluminous enough to imply she was larger and it would cover her fully and so she took it. Jenny showed no signs of emerging soon, so with a sigh, Liz headed off.

She found the lake, the water looked freezing and she stalled, taking her time stripping off the layers. The air was cold, by her estimate it had to be almost Christmas, and again she balked, before remembering the threat. He'd hold her under. He was that kind of man and she couldn't let that happen. Shivering, she peeled the last of her clothes off, the inner layers stuck to her skin and it was relief she felt when she was finally naked. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a vague shimmering to her right and she stopped, dropping the jumper she'd been holding to the ground. Was this the wards? More importantly, was this a gap in the wards? The shimmering was only occurring over part of the water, the rest was free of the haze which rose from the lake. Recalling what Jenny had said, she bent, picking up a stone from the shore and walking towards the faintly flickering air. She threw the stone, braced for sparks. It passed through the shimmer. Without any further thought, and regardless of the cold, she threw herself into the lake.

It was warm. She laughed in delight but sobered almost instantly. Not freedom. But warm, like a bath. For a split-second she wondered whether Scabior had arranged it for her, before she frowned. Of course not. They had to wash too. And despite his unkempt appearance, he seemed to have a cat-like obsession with cleanliness. He was vain, dressed in a new outfit every day, and when he came close, she could only smell cigarette smoke and something woody, musky underneath. No, this must be where he bathed, where they all bathed.

Shuddering again at that thought, she immersed herself, watching as her hair fanned out around her under the water. She washed it through, three times before she ran conditioner through it, guiltily relishing the feeling of it untangling. She scrubbed herself, cleansing and shaving and rubbing until she felt pink and clean. It was some time before she was ready to get out, only to realise she had no towel.

It felt awful to use the dirty clothes to dry herself and she shivered uncontrollably. But the clean clothes were a balm against her skin and she ran back to the camp, brushing her teeth repeatedly with a new toothbrush from the bag before depositing herself in front of the fire, running her fingers through her hair as it dried.

"What's this?" Jenny's voice was bitter behind her and for the first time in days Liz turned to look at her cousin. There was an ugly bruise on her arm, her neck was marked with the imprints of teeth, purple and ugly where Scabior had sucked at her skin. Jenny's eyes were shadowed and dark looking and Liz felt absurdly guilty about her own cleanliness.

"He told me to get clean, or he'd do it," she replied.

Jenny looked her up and down. "You can see your collar bones," she said finally. "He'll know you lied."

"He won't know. And I'll just say I lost weight. We've been here long enough. Anyway, he doesn't really look at me."

"He does," Jenny said harshly before turning back into the tent.

Liz had been watching the fire for a long time, her hair now dry and gleaming. The flames had flushed her cheeks, brought a sparkle to her eyes. It was dark when she heard a sound behind her and she turned. Scabior stopped dead, staring at her. It was as if she was a different girl, gone was the frumpy, stinking mess of the previous day. Instead he was faced with her elfin face, the shadows and dirt no more. She looked delicate and unearthly silhouetted before the fire and his mouth opened, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

She watched his face, watched the expressions run across it and she felt afraid. She stood quickly, backing away from him. "I did it," she said. "What you asked."

But instead of looking pleased his expression darkened. "Don't move," he hissed and she froze. He crossed to her at almost impossible speed and reached out, his hands settling on her waist. He patted her up and down, his touch impersonal and she realised her mistake. Standing before the fire she was backlit, the garment rendered transparent where her flesh did not fill it. He knew.

"What's this?" he asked, unknowingly echoing Jenny's earlier question, lowering his mouth to her ear as he stepped into her space, his chest an inch from her own. "Because last night, you were fat. And today, you ain't."

She shook her head, unable to respond.

"Layers," he said finally. "All that bulk. It was clothes, weren't it? You just let us believe you was fat so we'd leave you be. Clever girl."

Liz closed her eyes, too scared to move, to speak, waiting for his hand to crack across her face.

His lips brushed against her ear, his fingers tightening on her. "This changes things, you know," he murmured.

"No, please, I'm not – I can't-"

"Shush, Princess," Scabior closed his eyes and inhaled. This was a gift, of that he was certain. For the last six weeks, he'd come hard, thinking of her under him as he did, imaging her bound, begging and sometimes bleeding. And now here she was, transformed from stinking beast into beauty. He'd been a fool, he realised. She'd played him good and proper and oh how he wished it had continued. If she'd defied him today, he could have dragged her off, revealed her slowly as he'd peeled away her layers. But instead she'd sat before the fire, like a sacrifice, waiting for him. He smiled slowly. "This changes everything," he said again, before claiming her mouth with his.


	9. Chapter 8

She froze as his mouth landed on hers, her body stiffening. He was surprisingly gentle, coaxing her lips with his own, gently probing with his tongue until she gave way to him, opening for him. His hands stayed respectfully on her arms, his body only lightly pressing against hers. She didn't realise she was kissing him back until she heard a gasp behind her. Breaking away she saw Jenny, her expression murderous. She turned back to Scabior, his eyes dark as he gazed at her, apparently unaware of her cousin's presence, before she broke from his grip and ran.

Scabior was in a dream, he was sure of it. She was in his arms, kissing him back and triumph flooded through him. He'd won, she'd given in and he was surely just minutes away from – She was gone. He turned to watch the blue of the robe she wore fluttering through the trees and was shocked back into reality by a ringing slap across his face. Furious, he turned to see Jenny glaring at him, her eyes bright with tears.

"What the fuck was that?" she whispered.

"Did you just slap me?" he demanded.

"I – No-"

He cut her off, delivering a brutal slap of his own to her face. "See if you ever, ever raise a hand to me again you little slag, it'll be the last thing you do."

Jenny clutched her cheek. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was – I lov-". He shoved her aside coldly, stalking into the tent, hopelessly aroused. Jenny followed him.

"Please, Scabior, just… I love you, please… Do you want her now, is that it?"

He turned, his fist raised to hit her again. "I dare you to say that again."

She shook her head, her eyes glistening. He grabbed her hair and yanked her to him. "That," he spat at her, "was a lesson in being interesting, sweetheart," he growled. "See your cousin? Well, she just got interesting. What are you going to do about it?"

His grin was more of a grimace as Jenny dropped to her knees, tears on her cheeks.

Liz ran, back to lake, sinking into the shoreline, revulsion washing over her. He'd kissed her, not hit her. He'd kissed her. And she'd kissed him back.

Hours passed and again no-one came. She'd gone beyond coldness, beyond shivering, frozen and staring at the water. She felt tired and heavy, and a weight settled across her shoulders. It was only when someone dropped down beside her that she realised the weight across her shoulders was real. Someone had draped a coat around her and she turned, accepting her fate.

"There's no food," Rowley said conversationally. "Ratter's gone to get a takeaway."

"Where's Jenny?" Liz asked.

"Where do you think? In his tent, making a fuck load of noise, as per," he replied.

Liz was confused, and hurt for a moment. So he'd kissed her but then gone back to Jenny? Well, that figured. "Right. Good," she replied blankly.

"You need to come back. He's got an announcement."

"About what?"

"Winter, or so he said. Come on," Rowley stood, this time holding a hand out to her. She took it and allowed him to haul her to her feet.

The camp was abuzz with activity, Ratter distributing food on paper plates. He handed one to Liz, who took it, sitting next to Rowley, still wrapped in his coat. This raised eyebrows but no-one spoke, tucking into their food. Finally, Scabior emerged, doing up his fly and grinning as he flopped down on a log. He didn't look at Liz, didn't acknowledge her presence there at all and she put her plate down, her appetite lost.

"It's getting cold," he spoke without preamble. "It's almost Christmas. And camping will be a bitch in the snow. We need a base, a house, in a good location,"

"Where will we find one of them we can afford?" Ratter asked.

"Ah, well, funny you should ask," Scabior smirked. "She's got one," he pointed at Liz.

The blood drained from her face as everyone turned to her. "No…" she began.

"Do you really need a repeat of what happens when you defy me? It's happening, Princess. Your cousin gave us the go ahead. I thought you'd be happy; you've been moping around for ages because you want to go home. And now you are. Enjoy your last night in camp, boys. Tomorrow we're moving." He stood and turned back to his tent and Liz followed, darting to him, pulling at his sleeve.

"You can't…"

He looked at her, his expression blank for a moment before he grabbed her arm, pulling her behind the tent, into the trees there, throwing her roughly against them.

"What can't I?" he asked softly, dangerously.

"Please… it's not my house, it's not Jenny's house. It's my mums and-"

"Your muggle mum that's on the lamb? Her? Because I doubt she's going to come complaining."

"It only has two bedrooms."

His mouth opened and then closed. "Well, then, I suppose you're going to have to share with someone."

"Please, that's not what I meant, I meant that-" His mouth crashed against hers before she could finish, his grip on her arms tight. He kissed her hungrily for a moment before he pulled away.

"Way I see it, Princess, we've got your room and a spare room. Greyback won't stay, so that's Ratter and Rowley in the spare room, Davey on the sofa and then your room. Now, you can share with me, or me and your cousin can share and you can sleep in the bath. That's how it is. You can tell me your decision in the morning," he ran a finger down her cheek almost tenderly. "But I'd advise you to pick me. I will make it worth it." He turned and stalked away, leaving Liz staring after him, unsure whether she preferred him kissing or slapping her.

That night, her dreams were haunted by him. His body covered hers, his weight pressing pleasurably against her. His hands stroked her, caressed her, his voice husky as he murmured how much he wanted her. She responded to his kisses, his words with vigour, pressing herself against him, her tongue dancing against his. His kohl-darkened eyes burned into hers and she awoke a mess, tangled in the sheets, sweat cooling on her skin, achingly disappointed it had only been a dream.

They'd packed most of the camp by the time she came out, washed and dressed in the same clothes as before. Scabior was sat like a king on one of the logs, smoking as he watched the activity, his hand in Jenny's hair where she sat at his feet. Neither of them looked at Liz as she crossed to the fire, helping herself to tea from the pot. She watched Rowley move to pack up her tent, hardly daring to believe she was going home, but equally dreading having these men in the house she'd grown up in.

The snatchers moved efficiently, within the hour they were ready to leave. Scabior pushed Jenny towards Davey and beckoned Liz to him. "I need you to apparate me there," he said.

"I know where it is, I could," Jenny volunteered but Scabior silenced her with a look.

"You'll bring Davey and then come back for Rowley and Ratter, got it?"

Jenny nodded obediently and Scabior pulled Liz to him. He handed her a wand, not her own, and held his to her throat, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Ready when you are, Princess."

Liz looked at him briefly, before twisting on the spot, thinking of home.

They arrived in the copse behind her house, her heart swelling as she set her eyes on the familiar place. She was about to step forwards when strong fingers gripped her jaw, pulling her face around. Scabior looked down at her. "Did you decide?" he asked and she shook her head. "Then I'll decide for you," he said, taking her hand and pulling her towards the back door. He flicked his wand and it opened, and then she was being pulled through the kitchen, past the living room and up the stairs.

Scabior threw open the doors as he passed them, her childhood room, recently taken over by Jenny, her parents room and the bathroom. He pulled her back to her room and surveyed the single bed apprehensively.

"This is yours, yeah?"

"Not really, Jenny sleeps here."

"Where are you?"

"My parent's room."

He looked across the hall and shook his head before looking back at her bedroom. "No, we'll be in here."

Footsteps thundered up the stairs and the pair turned to see Jenny, Ratter and Rowley on the landing. Jenny looked at Liz's hand, still trapped in Scabior's, before smiling brightly.

"You found our room then?"

Scabior's smile was cold. "I found my room. And Liz's room apparently. Rowley, Ratter, you're in the double. And don't go bitching about sharing a bed, you're lucky to get one," he turned back to Jenny. "We'll set you up on a camp bed downstairs. You don't have to sleep in the bath."

"But-" she spluttered.

"But what? This is Liz's house, so she gets to sleep in her own bed. And I ain't sharing with those two dickheads," he nodded at the pair of men behind her. "Davey's on the sofa and you'll be on the camp bed. So I'll be in here. With Liz. Everyone's happy."

Scabior was the only one who looked remotely happy with the arrangement.


	10. Chapter 9

Scabior turned back down the stairs, barking out orders to his men, demanding they check the kitchen for supplies, someone needed to make a shopping list, ensure the house was warded so only the men could come in and out, sort out bedding. Liz turned to Jenny, her mouth open to apologise but Jenny glared at her, her lips curled upwards in fury.

"You bitch. You utter, utter bitch. I hope you're happy now, I love him, you know. I actually love him and you… You've stolen him from me. How, I don't know. But I won't forget this, Liz, believe me."

"I'm sorry, I don't-" Liz was taken aback at the venom in her cousin's tone. "I don't want him-"

"Piss off, 'Princess'. Don't speak to me," Jenny looked her up and down in disgust before heading down the stairs.

Liz backed into her room and sat on her bed, shaken. How could this have happened, how could things have gotten so out of hand? That she now had to share a room with him, that he'd brought his people, his life, into her home and taken it over, how was it possible? She dreaded going down the stairs, witnessing them drinking tea from her mother's favourite cups, their dirty feet on the clean wooden floor of the living room. Them in her bathroom, her kitchen. Was she to be a slave in her own home, a drudge waiting for them to come home so could serve their meals and wipe the shit from their boots?

He was supposed to get bored. Why wasn't he bored? She looked at herself in the mirror of her dresser. She looked haunted. She wasn't jealous of Jenny anymore; she didn't want danger or glamour. She missed her job. She wanted her life back, her boring, safe and predictable life. All gone, because of him. And now it seemed he thought she'd fall into his arms.

And the truly horrible thing was part of her wanted to. He was disgusting, dangerous but when he focussed his attention on her, part of her didn't want to run from him. Rage filled Liz and she stood up. She wouldn't have it, not in her home. She wouldn't let herself submit to him. She headed for the door, adrenaline coursing through her, determined to tell him he'd crossed the line when she walked smack into a very solid chest. She stumbled and a pair of hands clutched her arms, steadying her.

"Going somewhere?" Scabior asked.

"You…" her courage faltered as she looked up at him. Blue eyes gazed down at her, curiosity lighting them

"'Me' what?"

"I don't want you here," she said quietly. "I don't want you or them in my house. Go, please. Just go. I won't tell anyone. This is my home. I don't want this."

"We don't always get what we want, Princess," he replied, his voice equally as quiet.

"Please, I'll give you money. Take me to Gringotts, I'll get you money. You can rent a house, or stay in an inn. Please."

"Elizabeth," he said and she shivered, realising it was the first time he'd ever addressed her by her name. It sounded safe in his mouth, rolling off his tongue and for a moment, she would have done anything he asked of her. But then he continued; "If we go, you're coming with us, you realise that?"

"Why?"

In response he stepped towards her, trusting that she'd step back. When she did, he kicked her bedroom door shut, his hands still on her arms. "Because I'm not done with you."

She stared at him. "Is that it?" she said finally. "Sex? Fine," she wrenched her arms away from him and pulled the kaftan over her head. "Let's do it then, come on. Let's do it and then you can go."

He was momentarily taken aback, his jaw slackening as his eyes roamed her body, her small breasts, her narrow hips, he reached out unconsciously to her and she froze, willing herself not to panic, but he dropped his hand, blinking hard.

"No, Princess. It ain't going to be like that."

"Why not?" she almost screamed.

He pulled her to him, pinning her against him, one hand splayed across her back, the other tilting her chin upwards. He smiled slowly and kissed her. She pushed against his chest but he continued to kiss her, pressing against her and she felt his length, hard against her hip. Then she panicked, suddenly aware despite her words that she didn't want him, not like this, and she struggled, wrenching her mouth away from his.

"No."

He smiled wolfishly at her. "But you just said we should do it," the hand on her back slid upwards, toying with the bra strap and she wriggled again, terrified.

"Please, no, please," she begged.

His eyes darkened for a second before he released her, leaning back against the door. "Chill out, Princess. I ain't never in my life needed to bed a woman by force and you ain't about to be the exception to that rule. When I claim you, and I will, I promise you that, it will be because you've come to me wanting it," he paused, looking her over. "And you will, my love. You'll crave it."

His eyes raked her body again before he turned, opening the door. "I came to ask you what you fancied for dinner. Rowley's offered to give you a night off, seeing as it's your first night back in your home. Ain't that nice of him? I'll tell him you're not fussed, shall I?" he smiled charmingly at her and closed the door over.

Inside the room she collapsed to the floor, her legs shaking too much to hold her.

Outside, he leant against the door, stroking his cock through his jeans. He toyed briefly with the idea of finding Jenny and getting her to suck him off, but decided against it, striding to the bathroom and closing the door. He released his shaft, gripping it tightly and jerking rapidly. He came into his own hand a few short moments later, imaging his hand was hers. Breathing heavily, he tucked himself away, rinsed his hand and returned to the kitchen.

Liz was tempted not to go down when they called her. She'd stayed in her room, huddled under the covers, staring at the wall until it got too dark to see. She knew she was being pathetic, she knew she should be trying harder to fight, but she couldn't help it. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. She'd always been a good girl, quiet, respectful of her parents. She'd always done her homework. No, she wasn't the coolest or the prettiest or the cleverest but she was good, she had friends and a job. She wished she were the fighting kind, wished she had her wand so she could at least get a few hexes off before he hurt her. Not that she would, she'd still keep her head down, because that was the kind of girl she was. And right now, she hated herself for it.

But most of all, she hated herself because despite the way he'd treated her, slapping her, insulting her, humiliating her, part of her still wanted to open herself to him. Jenny had been right, he was handsome. With his icy blue eyes, his cruel smile and his strong hands, he was undeniably alluring. But it was more than that, he was like a spider in a web and he'd caught her; each twist and turn only serving to make her more entangled in him. She hated him but at the same time, part of her wanted to give in to him. And that scared her. That she, rational, practical Elizabeth could harbour fantasies about someone like him.

"Don't make me come and get you, Princess," his voice called up the stairs to her and she shuddered, before throwing back the covers. She pulled the kaftan back on and took a deep breath. She'd lasted six weeks. And yes, things were changing. But she could outlast him. She knew she could. If she just kept playing the same game, if she stayed quiet, if she stayed out of his way. He'd get bored, he was that type. Or she could just give him what he wanted. She couldn't beat him in a fight, and she couldn't outsmart him. But she could bore him, Liz Fawley, the girl who bored. She smiled sadly at her reflection, before opening the door and heading down.


	11. Chapter 10

Any attempt Liz had made at creating a veneer of composure was lost when she entered her small dining room. She'd expected a mess, a gang of shabby snatchers lunging at the food and slopping their plates full of whatever Rowley had thrown together in her kitchen. Instead the table was laid properly, the white table cloth pristine, though she realised with a pang of annoyance it meant they'd been through the all the drawers. Atop the cloth, dinner plates were laid out, each with a small bread plate. The cutlery was gleaming; they'd even added wine and water glasses to each place setting.

Scabior, of course, sat at the head of the table. To his immediate left sat Ratter, looking eager, Jenny beside him, sullenly twisting her napkin, and Davey appearing characteristically stunned next to her. Both seats on the right of the table lay empty, and Rowley guided her to the one at Scabior's elbow.

"You're here, and me next to you when I'm done. I did a soup first," he smiled at her.

"This is you?" she asked, momentarily forgetting the absurdity of the situation.

"I told you I was the cook."

"I thought you meant in the camp?"

"Oh yeah, but before that I was a trainee chef. Started out in that place in Godric's Hollow. They teach you it all when you start," he filled her glass with wine, one arm behind his back like a real wine waiter, before scuttling off to the kitchen.

Liz looked down at her place setting, biting her lip, the whole situation almost driving her to laughter. It was ludicrous and theatrical. They'd kidnapped her, and her cousin, held them for six weeks in a tent in some Merlin-forsaken forest, before commandeering her home and now she was to be guest of honour at some sham formal dinner. It beggared belief and she lifted her wine, drinking deeply to prevent herself from doing something, anything to throw the situation into sharp relief.

"Everything all right, Princess?" Scabior addressed her, as Jenny did nothing to suppress a snort of disgust.

"This is quite something," Liz said, taking another drink of her wine.

"You want to slow down, you'll be drunk. And you ain't pretty the day after, if memory serves."

She looked at him before draining the glass. "It's my first night at home in a long time. I'm celebrating."

He said nothing in reply, just watching her carefully. She half expected him to stop Rowley from topping up her glass, but he didn't.

The food was lovely, a stark difference between her cooking and Rowley's and she hazily wondered why they had put up with her cooking at all, given what Rowley could do. He'd served them a light soup, rich with tomatoes and cream, before bringing out a rack of lamb and minted vegetables. For dessert, he'd made an apple pie with cream. Liz was surprised and impressed, and her wine consumption made her effusive with her compliments.

She didn't see Scabior's face darken each time she turned to Rowley to praise him.

She'd ignored him since their exchange at the beginning of the meal and it was beginning to grate. Between her apparent fascination with Rowley and the feel of Jenny's frequent and baleful glances at him, he was spoiling for a fight. When she rose to help Rowley carry their dessert plates through to the kitchen, he snapped.

"Leave it," he said harshly.

She stopped, stunned, before allowing Rowley to take the plate from her. She sat back down, annoyed at being spoken to like a child, annoyed that he'd broken the ambience of the evening. She'd actually been having a nice night, chatting to Rowley about his old life, eating the food. It had almost been civilised, enough to make her forget why she was there. She picked her wine glass up and threw back the contents, before reaching for the bottle.

His hand darted out, moving it from her reach, his eyebrows raised in challenge.

She dropped her gaze from his, before speaking carefully "May I have the wine?"

"'May I have the wine' what?"

She looked up at him, for a second her hatred naked on her face before it vanished. "May I have the wine, Scabior?" she said.

And just as earlier, when he'd said her name to disarm her, her saying his sent shockwaves through him. He forgot where they were, that other people were there, only able to focus on the bitter caramel sound of his name rolling off of her tongue.

Jenny tutted, breaking the spell and he shoved the wine towards Liz, before stalking out of the room. She heard the back door open, the sound of a match lit before it closed and she breathed out, a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding. She topped up her glass and drained it before standing.

"Where're you going?" Rowley asked as he re-entered the room. "'E says 'e's got plans for us tonight."

"I'm going to bed," she said, wobbling slightly. "You can tell him I'm tired."

"No offence, Lizzy, but I ain't telling 'im nothing," Rowley said and she shrugged, making her way from the room and back to her own.

She washed her face and brushed her teeth, the wine making her buzz pleasantly. With any luck, she'd be asleep before he came up, and with even more luck, he'd stay down there with Jenny. She pulled on a pair of her father's old pyjamas before padding softly back to her room.

He was in her bed.

She hadn't heard him come up the stairs; she'd only been in the bathroom for five - ten minutes at most. And yet there he was, shirtless, propped up on one elbow waiting for her. And she couldn't help but appreciate just how good he looked doing it.

"Anyone would think you were avoiding me," he said.

The alcohol made her bold and she stared at him. "Are you sleeping here then?"

"So are you. Don't make me get up and fetch you."

The threat was obvious, permeating through her drunkenness and she pouted involuntarily before closing the door. "Please could you pass me down a pillow," she said stiffly.

"You ain't sleeping on the floor, Princess, you're sleeping with me."

In the darkness she could barely see his face. "What if I don't want to?"

"It's not really about what you want. Get over here. Now."

She hesitated for a moment before crossing to the bed and perching on the end. "There's not enough room for two."

He answered by sliding his arms around her waist, pulling her clean against his body. "Lie down, Princess. We've got tons of room."

She turned, keeping her back to him as she lay, her body still held stiffly. She realised she could feel the warmth of his skin through the material of her pyjamas. He wore nothing, arranging his body around hers, pressing the lines of his form into her, throwing a leg over hers, one arm under her neck, the other draped over her side. He nuzzled the back of her neck.

"Do I not get a goodnight kiss then?" he asked huskily.

"Scabior…" she began but again it fired his blood and he pulled at her, turning her over and pressing his mouth to hers, his weight resting gently on her, his hands cupping her face.

"Kiss me back," he spoke into her mouth. "I'll let you be, for tonight, if you do."

Too exhausted, too drunk, too curious to argue, she did, moving her lips against his, hesitantly flicking her tongue over his when it invaded her mouth. He tasted of smoke, of wine, of apples and cream and she explored each flavour with increasing interest. He moaned lightly, and she found her hands reaching for his hair, tugging him closer. He responded in kind, pulling her to him, ravishing her mouth. Dimly, she realised she'd let out a sigh of disappointment when he pulled away, she could still feel his hair tickling her neck.

"More?" he said softly and she craned her neck to kiss him in response.

In the darkness, in her drunkenness, she forgot who he was, who she was, and she kissed him, just as hungrily as he kissed her.


	12. Chapter 11

He was gone when she awoke the next morning, her lips swollen and strange feeling. They'd kissed for what felt like hours, his mouth on her neck, her ears, her collar bones, kissing along her jaw before taking her lips again. It had been strange and heady and blurred in her mind from the wine, if it wasn't for fact she could smell him on her pillow, for her still-tingling mouth, she might have thought it was a dream. She sat up warily, but her head didn't hurt and her stomach was calm.

Silently, she opened the bedroom door, listening carefully before making her way down the stairs. The living room was empty, the room smelling slightly of men, of alcohol, and she threw back the curtains, trying to open a window to clear it. The windows held fast, she raced to the front door and tried to open that but it too stayed firmly closed. Although she'd expected it, she still felt disappointed. Sighing, she made her way into the kitchen.

Jenny was slumped at the table; she looked up as her cousin entered, her face haggard. Liz looked away, flicking down the switch on the kettle and busying herself making them both coffee. She placed a cup in front of Jenny, who pushed it away.

"We're locked in," Liz said. "Merlin knows what we'll do if there's a fire."

"Did you sleep with him?"

Liz stared at her before answering softly "No."

Jenny nodded, apparently satisfied, pulling the coffee back to her. She held the cup in both hands, staring into the steam. "Will you?"

Liz paused for a moment, staring at her own cup. "Yes," she said and Jenny looked up sharply. "If it makes them go, yes. I want them gone. And if that's all he's sticking around for, I'll do it."

Jenny looked at her appraisingly, before nodding again. "When will you do it?" Liz shrugged, about to answer when Jenny spoke again. "Please don't do it on Christmas. Please. I can't – Not Christmas."

It was Liz's turn to nod, before a hollow, swooping sensation engulfed her. "Isn't that tomorrow?" She stood to check the calendar, mentally ticking off the days that had passed. "Oh Merlin, it is. It's Christmas Eve. Oh…"

"Not then, then," Jenny said, her voice oddly calm.

Liz turned to her, bewildered by the way her cousin thought only of him, not the time that had passed, not the fact it was Christmas Eve, not that they were still prisoners. Jenny was staring at her, waiting for her agreement and she nodded before leaving the room, her coffee abandoned, her desire for it gone.

She showered, pulling on jeans and a thick jumper, before setting the house to rights. She tidied the bedding, lining up bottles by the back door to go to the bin, washing up the plates and putting them away. She raided the cupboards for food, preparing pasta for their return. If they returned she thought hopefully, though she knew full well they would.

The house felt alien to her, cold and she stacked the fire, lighting it and curling up in front of it. She'd rather be in the forest, she thought. If she was going to be a prisoner, better there than here. This was supposed to be a safe place, a sanctuary, not a jail. She wondered whether she could put a sign in the window, begging for help. But the chances of someone coming out to cottage were far slimmer than the chance of Scabior finding out, or worse, Jenny telling him out of spite.

Scabior and Rowley arrived back after dark, Ratter and Davey absent, and the two headed straight to the kitchen table. Scabior didn't look at her, or greet her, only grunting at her when she placed his plate in front of him. They ate fast, in silence, before they stood and tramped through to the living room, Jenny trailing behind them like a lost puppy. Liz stared after them, and then back at the debris on the table. Patience, she decided, beginning to clear up. Patience.

"Get in 'ere, Princess," his voice called and she turned, putting the last of the plates away before she did. He was sitting in her father's chair; Jenny on his lap, looking more animated than she had been all day. His hand was inside her dress, Liz could see it moving across her breast and Jenny shot her a look of triumph.

"Don't just stand there in the doorway like a lemon, it's Christmas Eve, time to be together." he drawled and to her shame she obeyed, taking a seat at the far end of the sofa.

Rowley was scrawling away at something, and it took Liz a second to realise it was a Christmas card. "S'for my girlfriend," he said, looking up at her. "Boss's given us the day off tomorrow, for Christmas like, so I'm going there for me dinner."

Liz nodded. "Are you all going to your families?" she asked quietly. Scabior whispered something to Jenny and she rose, leaving the room.

"Davey and Ratter'll probably go to their mum's," Rowley offered.

"And I'll be right here," said Scabior. "But don't worry about cooking a full dinner, I'm not that fussed." He smirked at her before standing. "Any booze left from last night?" he asked and Liz nodded. "I'll start the festivities then," he said, heading to the kitchen.

"How long have you been with your girlfriend," Liz asked.

"Since September, it's our first Christmas together," he smiled bashfully, scrawling x's along the bottom of the card and sealing it in the envelope.

"Do you normally go to your mum's?"

"Normally. I mean, last year we was all in Azkaban, and there ain't much Christmas cheer in that place."

Liz was taken aback by his matter-of-fact attitude. "All of you?"

"'Cept Greyback. But the rest, yeah. S'why Davey's a bit… Davey. Boss was the worst, he'd been in for eight years. I'm surprised he ain't completely mental."

Liz refrained from saying that that was debatable.

"Do you reckon I could have some wine before I go?" Rowley asked. "I ain't met her folks before. Bit of Dutch courage for me."

Liz nodded and stood, turning back to the kitchen.

She nearly lost the contents of her stomach when she saw them. He was between Jenny's legs, she was perched on the edge of the table, hers wrapped around his waist. He was grunting softly with each thrust, Liz could see his buttocks tensing as he pumped into her, his trousers around his ankles.

She turned, forgetting Rowley, forgetting everything, running up the stairs. She closed her bedroom door behind her, crawling under the sheets still fully dressed, pressing her face against the cold wall.

She felt ashamed, stupid, confused and disgusted and she couldn't wipe the image of them from her mind. On the table. On the kitchen table. She'd just cleaned it. They'd eaten there. Oh Merlin… Then a sly thought crept in. Maybe he was done with her, maybe he'd go back to Jenny now. She could have her bed to herself. He'd leave her alone. She tried to push aside the feeling of loss she felt at that. It was better, for the best.

Her thoughts were cut off as the door opened and she stiffened. It closed and she felt the bed dip down where he sat next to her.

"I take it you saw that then? Don't tell me you're jealous," he took her silence for confirmation. "You are, ain't you? What, did you think that after last night I was your boyfriend? Did you think that 'cause we'd done a bit of snogging, I'd stop banging your cousin? Because I know you're innocent but even you can't be that naïve," he poked her but she refused to acknowledge him.

His voice turned dangerous. "What have you been told about looking at me when I talk to you?"

She turned, keeping her face blank, staring at the ceiling.

"Better," he said, standing and beginning to strip and she had another flashback of his body thrusting against Jenny's. "So do you want me to be your boyfriend then? Will I sack off Jen and we can be together, maybe get married, have some kids? I'm flattered, Princess, I really am but I don't think I'm the man for you. I've got needs. I get tense when my balls get blue, know what I mean?" he waited for a response and when he didn't get one he swooped, gripping her jaw in his fingers, forcing her face to his. "I'm not talking to myself here, understand? It ain't any of your business what I do or don't do with your cousin. And it don't change nothing between us."

He dropped the last of his clothes to the floor and Liz turned back to the wall.

"I don't remember saying you could turn over," he said and she closed her eyes, rolling back onto her back.

He climbed into the bed beside her, pulling her roughly into his arms. He settled a hand on one of breasts, stroking it softly through her jumper and she froze, trying to pull away, appalled that he'd do it just minutes after what he'd done with Jenny.

"Don't test me, Princess," he said softly, his fingers moving, sliding under the jumper, gliding along the filmy cup of her bra. She choked down a sob and forced herself to go limp as his fingers teased her through the fabric. And then she was horrified to realise it felt good, her nipple was erect, enjoying the feeling of his deft fingers against it. He shifted, pulling her under him, lowering his mouth to hers. Before he kissed her, he smiled. "And don't worry, I didn't kiss your cousin. We only fucked," he said, pressing his mouth against hers, pinching her nipple as he did.


	13. Chapter 12

She'd woke the next morning to breath on her face, slightly sweet, slightly sour. The night before, he'd been kissing her, touching her breasts, but every time she'd closed her eyes she saw him with Jenny, 'fucking' as he'd so bluntly put it, and she'd stiffened. He'd tried to coax her into relaxing, but she couldn't and in the end he'd stopped, pushing her away and climbing out of the bed, pulling his trousers on and leaving her. She should have been relieved, but she wasn't. She'd strained to listen, trying to make out sounds in the rest of the house, trying to hear if he'd sought Jenny out, if they were coupling again. Finally, he'd come back, the smell of whiskey on his breath. She'd stayed still, limp, keeping her breathing deep and regular as he'd climbed in beside her. She couldn't quell the disappointment she felt when he turned his back to her. She listened to his breathing change, slowing, before finally falling into a fitful sleep of her own.

She opened her eyes to find him facing her, one hand tucked under his face like a child. In sleep, he looked younger and softer, as if all his cruelty resided in his eyes. She could see the beginnings of faint lines around their edges; otherwise his skin was smooth, pale. She admired him absently for a moment, before her eyes were drawn to the tattoo on his neck. A series of numbers and strange symbols were inked there. She'd reached out to it, not to touch it, but to trace the outline in the air when his hand snapped out from under his face and clamped around her wrist, his eyes suddenly open and clear.

"Souvenir from my holidays," he said, his voice still thick with sleep. "Best not to ask."

He stretched, releasing her hand before propping himself up on one elbow. "You over your tantrum yet?"

Liz nodded before pulling herself up. She'd begun to scoot towards the end of the bed when his hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Where're you going?"

"I thought I'd go and make tea," she said softly.

He shook his head. "Stay with me. It's Christmas," he added, as if that were explanation enough.

Obediently, she moved back up the bed, wrapping her arms around her knees.

He watched her for a moment, before reaching out, smoothing her hair back from her face. The gentleness of the gesture surprised her and she turned to him.

"I don't want to upset you," he began. "I ain't a monster. I'm trying to be generous with you. In the last few weeks, I've only hurt you when you've upset me. I'm the one who's been feeding you, putting the food on the table. I ain't asked you for a knut towards it, have I?" he asked.

She shook her head slowly, shocked to realise he meant it. He really did think he'd been kind to her.

"All I've asked," he continued, "was that you cook it. That's fair, that is. I'm out working all day, getting the gold for the food. Only right you pull your weight. I brought you home didn't I? That's what you wanted and I did it. All I've asked from you is a few kisses. I could have forced myself on you, but I told you that's not my way. There's spells I could've used too, to make you want it. But I ain't, I've been a gentleman. So it's hardly fair for you to get uppity when I need release, is it? I'm doing my best, Princess. I want us to be friends. But I'm only human."

Throughout his speech, he'd continued to stroke her hair, his fingers tender and supple, his voice soft and seductive. She was astounded to find herself nodding, agreeing with him.

He smiled gently and sat up, planting a chaste kiss on her lips. "Tell you what, it's Christmas day. I won't touch Jenny all day, I swear it. I won't even look at her. How's that? Will that make you happy?"

Dumbly, she nodded and he smiled again. "Good girl. Now, why don't you go and fetch us that tea up here? We can have it in bed together. How does that sound?"

She nodded again, bewildered, allowing him to lift her over him and out of the bed. She walked down the stairs in a daze, confused about what had just occurred. He made it all sound so simple, so reasonable. Was she being a drama queen? What had he really done to her? She remembered the insults, the slap, the food being dumped on her head. The times he'd ignored her. But what if that really was her fault? What if she'd brought it on herself by antagonising him, refusing to wash, being sullen and silent?

She boiled the kettle in a stupor, adding milk and tea bags to their cups. When he'd been stroking her hair, talking to her so gently, it had almost seemed true. But if they were friends, he wouldn't have taken her wand, taken her and kept her in a tent, now keeping her in her home. That wasn't right, was it?

She climbed the stairs slowly, her limbs feeling heavy, her mind tangled. He smiled at her when she entered, moving over to her side of the bed and raising an arm to tuck around her. He took his cup, murmuring a 'thank you' in her ear, kissing her cheek. She pulled her knees back up under her chin and stared at her cup.

"You all right?" he asked, and she didn't miss the warning in the question.

"Yeah, just… can't believe it's Christmas."

"I know," he said, taking the cup from her and setting it on the windowsill. He cupped her face, tilting it to his and this time she was only to eager to kiss him back. Kissing him meant she didn't have to think, so she threw herself into it. Her enthusiasm pleased him, and soon his hand was back under her jumper, stroking her breasts.

"Take them off," he murmured and her eyes flew open. "I won't do nothing you don't want me to, I just want to feel your skin," he cooed, tugging at her jumper. She allowed him to remove it, tensing slightly when he unhooked her bra, tossing it across the room. When his hand strayed to the zip of her jeans, she grasped his wrist, looking up at him in appeal.

"You can keep your knickers on," he said, rubbing his thumb across her nipple and sending a shiver down her spine. "Skin on skin, Princess."

She nodded, her heart racing in her chest as he unzipped her jeans, pushing them down, pulling them off her. He kissed her again before lowering his mouth to her chest, rolling first one, and then the other nipple between his teeth, sucking lightly, blowing cold air across them before his hot mouth kissed them.

"So beautiful," he murmured, kissing back up to her mouth and taking it, biting lightly on her lip. "Look what you do to me." He took her hand and placed it on his shaft, she instantly pulled it away but he moved it back, staring into her eyes. "Just touch it, Princess, that's all."

Her heart was pounding in her ears; she could feel the flush on her cheeks, on her breasts. She felt as though there were a snake inside her abdomen, writhing, her breathing had become shallow. She did as he asked, closing her fingers around him, her eyes widening slightly when it jerked in response. He smiled at her again.

"See, ain't so bad is it?" he asked and she shook her head, earning herself another kiss. She kept her hand locked around him, unsure what to do, but he gave no further instructions so she just held it, kissing him back. "I'd very much like to touch you," he said softly, his lips moving across her jaw to her neck. "Can I, Elizabeth? Can I touch you?"

The tightening in her stomach increased as he said her name and she nodded, letting go of his shaft and looking at him. Slowly, he trailed his hand between her breasts, down her stomach. He lingered briefly at the waistband of her knickers, before his fingers pushed beneath them. They played through the hair, finding her folds, stroking between them and he moaned, his pupils dilating.

"You're so wet, Princess," he said approvingly, stroking back and forth across her entrance, coating his fingers in her juices. "So wet," he repeated before taking her lips in his, his tongue in her mouth. His thumb moved back between her lower lips and she jumped in shock when he pressed down on her clitoris, moving his thumb against it. He moaned into her mouth as he did and she realised she was pushing against his hand, writhing against it, panting quietly.

It felt as though a terrible pressure was building inside her that would shatter her, her legs beginning to twitch and tremble. She felt him slip a finger inside her, then another, and she heard his groan, the feeling strange and she wanted to clench her muscles, to push him out. But his thumb continued to work at her, his mouth moving back to her chest. He bit her nipple lightly and she gasped, her spine arching as his teeth sent a bolt of feeling between her breasts and where his thumb toyed with her. Her hips were bucking towards his hand, her head twisting from side to side, his fingers pushing in and out of her while his thumb rubbed against her. It was too much, she couldn't take it and she moved her hand to push him away when all of a sudden she broke. Under his hand she shattered into a thousand pieces, waves of pleasure making her deaf, blind, incapable of thought. She felt as though she were underwater, floating, her whole body frozen in this moment of pure feeling.

She was aware, distantly, that he'd moved, that his hands were no longer on her. She opened her eyes to see him licking his fingers, tasting her on them and she blushed.

"Happy Christmas, Princess," he smiled victoriously.


	14. Chapter 13

She ducked her head away, her cheeks glowing, but he had no intention of leaving things there. His body covered hers, resting his weight on top of her, his chest pressing against her breasts and his shaft… She realised at some point he'd removed her underwear, that there was no barrier, however flimsy, between them anymore. But in the aftermath of her orgasm, still feeling as though her body was floating, she didn't protest. He lowered his lips to hers and she tasted herself on them, strange at first, but not unpleasant, and she opened her mouth to allow his tongue in.

His cock pressed into her hip, his hands pulling her thighs apart as he moved in between them, pushing her knees up to cradle him. She panicked, trying to close her legs, feeling exposed, but he forced her hands away.

"It's all right, Princess," he murmured, silencing her protest with a kiss. "I'll be gentle, I swear it. Don't tease me, lovely. Please. I don't want to fight on Christmas day. Not now we're getting on so well."

She stiffened slightly before nodding, willing her body to relax as he took his member and positioned it at her entrance. The thought of sinking into her, feeling the resistance and driving through it made him ache. She'd be so tight, so very tight. He smiled down at her and she gazed back with round, fearful eyes, tensing as she felt the tip of his cock tease her. It would hurt, she knew that, she could barely close her fingers around it, and she closed her eyes, trying to brace herself for it.

"Relax, Princess," he whispered into her ear. And then the peace shattered as the front door was thrown open.

"Scabior," a voice bellowed, the sounds of footsteps thundering up the stairs towards them. Liz cowered under Scabior as he swore, anger turning his vision red. Liz heard Jenny scream as the Liz's parent's room door was thrown open. Seconds later, her own door clattered open and the frame was filled with the massive body of Fenrir Greyback.

"Do you fucking mind?" Scabior shouted, outraged, still between Liz's legs. Her hands instinctively scrabbled for the bed sheets to cover them but found nothing. "This had better be fucking good, Greyback."

He said only one word in reply; "Potter", but that was enough to make Scabior move. Within seconds he was standing, pulling his trousers up as Liz blushed furiously, pulling again at the sheets to cover herself, the cold air a shock against her skin.

"Chill out, Princess, ain't nothing he ain't seen before," Scabior said cuttingly, pulling his boots on. "You sure it was Potter?" he turned back to Greyback. "Hundred per cent? Because word is he's gone. Well gone, France and beyond, they're saying in the Hog's Head. He'd have to be tapped to still be here."

"Then he's tapped. Because he was seen. And by someone who isn't likely to mistake him. Him and the girl." The werewolf's voice was deep and gravelly, and Liz realised she had never heard him say so much.

Scabior's eyes narrowed. "Who? Who'd this come from?"

"Avery. He was at the Malfoy's place last night and they all felt it. He was back. And fucking furious. Not long after, He arrived there, raging about Potter. Saying how close He'd been. Godric's Hollow. Again."

"Fuck," Scabior whistled, his fingers hovering over the buttons of his shirt as he paused, looking at Greyback. "Avery's lucky he got out. Did anyone cop it?"

Greyback nodded. "Some kid called Blishwick and some other, don't know his name. Avery said him and a few others legged it."

It was Scabior's turn to nod, finishing his buttoning and shrugging his leather waistcoat on. "We'd better get on it, then."

"Now?" Liz asked before she could stop herself. Both men turned to gaze at her.

"No, tomorrow," Scabior spat. "Of course fucking now. This is Potter we're talking about. Ten thousand Galleons to whoever gets him," he crossed over and pulled his wand out from under the pillow and Liz realised with a pang it had been there all night.

"But it's Christmas," she said softly.

Scabior looked down at her, his head tilted to the side as he scrutinised her. "Of course," his voice was dangerously quiet. "How remiss of me. I'll just tell The Dark Lord the reason we ain't got Potter is because it's fucking Christmas, shall I?" Liz cowered as he gripped her chin roughly in his fingers. "Do you have any idea what it would mean if I – we – gave Potter to The Dark Lord?" His eyes were lit up, crazed, and Liz looked away from him. "Ten thousand Galleons. I'd be a fucking hero. I'd be a rich fucking hero. And if Potter's back, I will find him. I always do. So if you think I'm going to miss my fucking chance to get the little shit, you're having a laugh. We can fuck anytime," he said maliciously and Liz heard a gasp behind him.

All three of them turned to see Jenny standing, wraith-like, in the hall behind Greyback. Her eyes took in Liz's appearance, her bare shoulders and tousled hair.

"You promised," Jenny choked out.

"Yeah, well, she lied," Scabior said before Liz could reply. "Get used to it."

Jenny visibly reeled before looking at Greyback. "Take me with you?"

"No!" Liz yelped, but Scabior increased his grip on her jaw, holding her mouth closed. Liz could only watch mutely as the werewolf looked at Scabior, who shrugged, before shrugging himself. He nodded for Jenny to go downstairs, his eyes following her hungrily.

Liz struggled against Scabior, who raised his wand and held it to her forehead, digging the tip into her flesh. "I'd advise silence unless you want to go with Greyback too," he said coldly. "Your cousin is a big girl, she can make her own choices. So you shut up and you stay here until I come back, all right?"

Liz stared up at him in mute appeal, and he responded by jabbing the wand into the thin skin on her head. "I said 'all right?'"

To her shame, she nodded and he pushed her away roughly, forgetting her instantly as he stalked out of the room, Greyback following without a backward glance. Liz fought tears as she heard them continue their conversation as they descended the stairs, Scabior asking where they were seen, if they were hurt, suddenly all business.

When the front door slammed behind them, she opened her eyes and finally gave into tears.

Later, Liz had showered and dressed and was sitting in her father's chair in the living room. The house was undecorated, no tree, no cheery candles in red and green on the fireplace. There were no cards from friends and relatives, no smell of roasting goose permeating the house. She was alone. She knew, distantly, that she should cook something. He'd come back and he'd want something to eat. But she couldn't bring herself to stand, to move. Jenny was gone and Liz didn't know if she'd ever see her again. Worse, she'd done nothing to stop it, nothing to try and explain that she hadn't broken her promise. She stared into the empty fire grate, wishing she had the power to go back and change things, make sure they were never in this position, that this never happened. He'd almost convinced her, almost made her believe that he wasn't a monster. But he was. And she'd make sure she never forgot it again.


	15. Chapter 14

Liz didn't know much about Harry Potter. She'd lived a strange life, thanks to her parents, one foot in the wizarding world and one foot out. Her mother had been tolerant, though deeply intimidated by magic and so her father had limited the use of it in the home. He'd allowed Liz's mother to try and install a television in the house, chagrined when his magic affected it, making it turn on and off and change channel by itself, when it wasn't scrambled and belching white noise at them. He'd been barred from the kitchen entirely, Liz's mother adamant she couldn't do without an electric kettle or fridge. So Liz had always straddled the two worlds awkwardly, not muggle enough to make her mother comfortable and not witch enough to fit truly in with her Pureblood father's family and their world.

Though Liz and her cousin were close, and Liz's mother had adored having the two girls in the house, by and large they'd spent most of their time at Jenny's house where magic was ordinary. Liz's mother had been almost disappointed when her daughter started to show signs of being magical, hoping her husband was wrong about the wizarding gene being dominant. He wasn't. It had been her father who took her to Diagon Alley to get her wand and her school things, while her mother took her to W.H Smith to get new pencil cases and stationery.

Liz's parents had met during the early stages of Voldemort's last battle for power and her father had kept his new bride well away from the wizarding world until Voldemort's fall; worried his choice of a muggle wife would make him and them a target. Liz had been born in a muggle hospital, far from the wizarding world, over a year after her cousin had been born at home. But Jenny's parents had never had to worry about Voldemort or his henchmen coming to call. Both were Purebloods, from smaller Pureblood families, and neither of them were brilliant or powerful enough to be recruited or targeted. And they most certainly weren't members of the Order of the Phoenix.

In truth, and privately, Liz's aunt and uncle had thought that maybe there was something in Voldemort's ideals about keeping Pureblood families pure, though they never mentioned it to Liz's father, or his muggle wife. But they did resent having a muggle in-law, and a half-blood niece, though they tried their best not to show it, welcoming Liz into their home and allowing her to use magic there.

So Liz had grown up in a sphere where the fall of The Dark Lord was neither particularly celebrated or mourned, and the survival of Harry Potter was brief anomaly that Liz could barely remember hearing about as a small child. Of course, all the furore had begun in earnest at the beginning of her sixth year, when it emerged Harry Potter would be attending Hogwarts, had even been seen on the Hogwarts Express. But to a girl who'd lost her father in the last year, and who was trying desperately not to write to her mother, begging to come home, after her cousin and her friends had laughed when she'd tripped over at Hogsmeade station, the arrival of the Boy Who Lived was scarcely important.

She vaguely recalled his Sorting, the cheers from the Gryffindor table and she remembered a small, skinny boy, too small for his age, really, wandering the halls, his eyes bright green beneath spectacles, but that was it. She never went to Quidditch matches, preferring the solitude of the library instead. Jenny and her gang went to every match, cheering and jeering loudly and Liz enjoyed the chance to roam the castle without worrying about bumping into any of them. Gryffindor had won the House Cup at the end of that year, because of Potter, but Liz was only interested because it meant Slytherin, and therefore Jenny, hadn't won.

During her seventh year, she'd barely noticed anyone other than Michael Tanner, the boy she'd eventually kissed on the Astronomy Tower. She'd liked him for a long time, admiring his curled blonde hair and grey eyes from afar, and she'd somehow miraculously gotten his attention late one November night as she headed back from the library. She'd spent a heady fortnight kissing him, holding his hand as they avoided the patrolling professors in the corridors, passing notes to each other across their classrooms. She later found out that she'd been the only girl stupid enough to risk leaving their dormitory while the monster from the Chamber of Secrets was said to be on the loose.

After one of her younger housemates and a ghost were attacked, she'd stopped sneaking out, and as if by magic, Michael Tanner lost interest in her too. Liz had tried to concentrate on her NEWTs, but the rejection and the worry about the Chamber meant that when Dumbledore had cancelled all exams at the end of the year "as a treat", as he'd so blithely said, she'd been amongst the loudest cheering.

With projected grades based on her home and classwork, Liz had gotten the NEWTS she needed to win her much-wanted job in Eeylops, and all thoughts of Harry Potter went out of her brain. She didn't go back to Hogwarts when it hosted the Tri-Wizard Tournament, she didn't go to the Quidditch World Cup. She didn't even read The Daily Prophet, except when she was tearing it up to go into the cages of the magical rats and mice she cared for. She went on dates with the rare customers who asked her, barely meeting her eyes, to join them for dinner, no relationship lasting longer than a month, nor getting beyond kisses and the occasional hand under her jumper. She figured the right person would come along eventually; she wasn't in a hurry anyway.

Voldemort's rise to power only began to affect her when the curfew was brought in, meaning she had to cut her hours at work. Before, she'd stayed late with the animals, but the curfew and the increase of Death Eaters on the streets meant she left earlier and earlier, reluctant to be out at all after dark. She'd worried slightly when she'd arrived on Diagon Alley one morning to find Ollivander's blown to pieces, but Mr. Eeylop had assured her that unless The Dark Lord had an owl which strongly took against their owl treats, they would be fine. It was only when her mother had mentioned, after a rare conversation with her sister-in-law, that she might be better off far away from the wizarding world, that the actions of Voldemort had become real to Liz.

But still distant. The Dark Lord and Harry Potter and the war were, at most, an inconvenience to Liz. Until she and Jenny had gone camping in the woods and found themselves held hostage by his lowest foot soldiers.

When he didn't come back on Christmas night, Liz had known he was punishing her, making her stay alone at Christmas. So she'd punished herself, shivering in the chair before finally going to bed. On Boxing Day, she'd risen, tidied and cooked as a nice a meal as she could with what she had left, waiting for him to come back, determined not to risk his anger again. But he didn't. Nor the day after, or the day after that and slowly Liz's fears about what would happen when he did come back gave way to the realisation he might not come back at all.

She began to worry, that he'd been hurt, or even killed. She told herself it was concern for her own situation that made her stomach churn when she imagined him dead, after all, only he and the other snatchers, and Jenny, knew where she was. If he didn't come back, what would happen to her? Would anyone come looking? The food was running low, already she was eating things from tins which looked as though they'd been in cupboard since before Liz's father had been died. Would she starve to death? What about the fire, the coal was running low too and she hadn't heard anyone come with a delivery, even if she could get out of the house.

Surely that meant he was alive though, the spells keeping her prisoner would have broken if he died. But he could be ill, or in a coma, or even a prisoner himself and while Liz wouldn't say she knew him, she knew well enough that she'd be the last thing on his mind if he were captive somewhere.

On New Year's Eve, desperate and afraid, she did what she had first considered doing the day he'd brought her home. She found every scrap of blank paper she could and scrawled 'Help me' across them in large black letters, fixing them across every window in the house. In the glass of the front door, she pinned a note saying she was trapped in the house, asking whoever found it to try and break the door down. She knew it was a long shot, but if someone, a milkman or postman or passer-by could see it, they might be able to get her out, or find someone who could.

The rooms were dimmed by the paper blocking what little natural light the December sun allowed, and Liz curled back up in her father's chair, a blanket wrapped around her, waiting. Tomorrow would be a new year, perhaps a new start. Maybe tomorrow someone would come and she'd be free again, safe again.

She awoke to the sound of crunching paper, the room in darkness. The candles on the mantelpiece flared to life and she squinted against the sudden brightness. As her eyes adjusted she saw him, his face shadowed by the flickering golden light. He looked dirty and tired, his normally neat attire ragged and muddy. There was stubble on his face and, bizarrely, a pink scarf around his neck. In his hand he held a piece of paper, she could just make out her handwriting on it. She looked up into his eyes and her heart stopped.

"What the fuck is this?" he asked.


	16. Chapter 15

His eyes fixed on hers, unblinking, his eyebrows raised slightly in question. Liz gulped audibly, flinching as he drew his wand and flicked it in the air. Pieces of paper flew towards him, the house filling with the sound of summoned paper being ripped from the windows and soon every single sheet she'd written on was floating by his head, like a crowd of overlarge butterflies.

"I asked you a question," he said quietly.

"They're – I didn't think you were coming back," Liz protested, shrinking back into the fabric of the chair. He moved forward suddenly, his hand twisting in her hair, unmindful of her scream as he dragged her from the chair, dropping her at his feet. He crouched down next to her, yanking her head back so she had to face him, before letting go and backhanding her hard across the face. She could taste blood in her mouth when his hand gripped her hair again, forcing her face back to his.

"Didn't think I was? Or hoped I weren't?" he snarled at her. "You stupid little bitch. I come back 'ere after almost a week in a fucking forest, to find the house freezing cold, no fucking food on the table, every fucking window covered in signs. And you fucking sitting in the dark like a fucking lemon."

He smelt stale, musty, faintly of vanilla and cigarettes and she gagged. He released her and stood, and Liz choked back a sob as she cowered at his feet. "No…" she began, but stopped as he flicked his wand again, sending the paper flying at her. It flapped in her face and at her hands, the sharp edges cutting her skin as she tried to fend them off. One sheet plastered itself over her nose and mouth, clinging to her face, and she panicked, unable to breathe as the paper smothered her. Without warning it stopped, the paper falling harmlessly to the floor and she wept, drawing in shuddering breaths. After a few moments she had calmed enough to look at him.

He stood over her with his wand still pointed at her, his face empty of emotion. "I thought we'd struck an accord," he said, sounding almost regretful. "I thought we'd sorted it out. I told you I was doing my best. But it seems you ain't understood me very well. Allow me to make myself clear… Crucio," he added and white hot pain lanced through Liz.

Needles, knives and swords stabbed every inch of her body, the soft skin of her inner thighs, inside her nose, the soles of her feet, across her belly. Lava bubbled through her veins and in her eyes, her head pounded as though her brain were trying to escape it, smashing against the sides of her skull and distantly she could hear the high-pitched sound of someone screaming in agony. It was only when he dropped the spell she realised it had been her.

She opened her eyes, staring up at him, unable to see anything for a moment as the ghosts of the pain still whispered through her. The absence of it was almost as unbearable as the curse had been and she shook uncontrollably, her mouth open wide in a silent scream.

"I did say I'd be back," he said conversationally. "Don't doubt me again."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I was scared you couldn't, I thought you'd been hurt."

He'd been about to reply, anger clouding his face at her apology when it abruptly cleared and he cocked his head, looking down at her with confusion. "Come again? You were scared I'd been hurt?"

Liz closed her eyes tightly, trying to brace for the pain he'd surely inflict at the insult of her believing someone could best him. But it didn't come; instead he crouched next to her and pushed her hair away from her face. When she nodded he cupped her cheek and Liz opened her eyes in shock, to find his blue ones looking back at her with affection.

"That's what all this was? You thought I was laid up somewhere and you was worried about me? Worried I was too bashed in to get back 'ere to you?"

The idea seemed to please him, so Liz nodded slowly. If he wanted to believe that, if it stopped him from hurting her, then she'd tell him whatever he wanted to hear.

"Oh, Princess, bless you," he said softly, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "Why didn't you just say that? I'd've understood if you'd told me," he shook his head as if amused by her silliness, before scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the sofa. He laid her on it, pointing his wand at the fire, which sprung to life, and summoning a blanket to cover her. He passed his wand over the cuts on her hands and face and she could feel the skin knitting itself back together. She still shook, her teeth chattering and she held her mouth open so he couldn't hear the sound of them rattling.

"See what happens when you don't make yourself clear," he continued, tucking the blanket in around her. "We have these misunderstandings. We both get hurt."

She could do nothing but nod as he gazed at her fondly, his expression like that of an indulgent father. She couldn't keep up with his mood swings, couldn't predict how he'd respond to anything so she just nodded, agreeing with him.

"You must've been out of your mind with worry, you poor bugger. Me gone and you here alone. Still, I've got a job to do, Princess," he added sternly. "I can't be playing house with you day in and day out. You're going to have to trust me. Trust that I'll come back. And then we won't have to be like this again, will we?"

She nodded again and he kissed her cheek. "Right, you stay here and I'll see what we've got in for dinner. Won't be long," he smiled at her and headed toward the kitchen, she could hear candles sparking into life where he lit them as he passed.

He was mad, Liz realised as she lay on the sofa, still trembling. Rowley had been right, Azkaban had utterly unhinged him. No one should be able to switch their temperament like that, go from murderous rage to kindness and affection within seconds. No-one should be able to do that to another person and then moments later care for them.

"There ain't no food," he announced cheerfully as he re-entered the room. "I'll have to go up the shops."

"The village shop will be closed," Liz said shakily. "It closes at five. And it's New Year's Eve."

"Lucky I can apparate then, ain't it?" he winked. "I'll get us sommat nice. Chinese do you?"

She nodded, summoning a weak smile and he grinned back at her.

"Do you have enough money?" she asked, trying to keep her voice normal and he raised an eyebrow.

"I ain't paying for it, Princess. I'll Obliviate them. Now, don't you worry, I won't be long. I'll be as quick as I can, yeah? No dramatics. I'll get some champagne as well, seeing as it's New Year. Why don't you go and pop on a nice dress? I'll get the food, have a quick shower and then we can have a nice night. How's that sound?"

Liz nodded again, her smile hurting her cheeks as she tried to hold it.

"Good girl," he said, stroking her cheek. "Back soon."

She waited until the door slammed closed before she pushed the blanket away and rose. Her legs were still shaking as she climbed the stairs to her room on autopilot. She pulled off her jeans and jumper, shedding her underwear and grabbing a towel. She examined her mouth, a cut in her cheek where she'd bit herself when he'd slapped her. She rinsed her mouth out and brushed her teeth, unable to meet her own eyes in the mirror. She ran the shower as hot as she could stand before stepping under it. Strangely, she didn't want to cry. She felt hollow and numb, and distanced from what had just happened, as if she'd read about it in a book.

As she rinsed the conditioner from her hair it dawned on her that Jenny wasn't with him. What would he do if she asked? Would he hit her again, or curse her? She'd never have believed the Cruciatus curse could hurt so much and not kill her. She'd read about it during her final year at Hogwarts, the pictures fairly indicative of the kind of pain it caused, but they didn't do justice to the way it felt. He'd cursed her. He'd used an Unforgivable curse on her and then just brushed it aside as though it were nothing. Suddenly feeling weak, she switched the water off and sank to the floor of the bathtub, resting her head against the cool sides. She needed her wand back.

By the time he returned, laden with bags, she was dressed in a demure green sundress, a cardigan over the top, sitting in front of the fire to dry her hair.

"Only me," he called as he came in, laughing at his own joke. "Didn't know what you liked so I got a bit of everything. I'm going to shower, so why don't you open everything up, and the fizz, and then we can have a little picnic in 'ere? Be nice, won't it, eating in front of the fire, just the two of us?"

She pasted on another bright smile, standing to take the bags from him.

"What do you say?" he asked as she did and she froze, bile rising in her stomach at his tone.

"Thank you?"

"That's my good girl," he smiled, leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers. She felt him take the bags from her and drop them to the floor before he gathered her to his chest, kissing her hungrily. She allowed her hands to rest on his shoulders, kissing him back, the action hurting her mouth.

Eventually, he pulled away, his eyes slightly glazed as he looked down at her. "Nice to be back," he said and she nodded, puppet like. "My Elizabeth," he murmured, kissing her forehead before leaving the room.


	17. Chapter 16

Liz did as she'd been told, arranging all of the food in the centre of the room. She pulled cushions down to the floor for them to sit on, collected plates and cutlery and glasses and brought them all through. She still ached slightly from the curse, a muscle in her back twitching occasionally as she worked. She sat in front of the fire, moving the cartons around so each one shared some of the heat, worried if he came down to cold food he'd be angry again. If she had her wand, she could at least charm it to stay warm. The thought brought a dry smile to her face. If she had her wand, she could do a lot more than keep stolen food warm.

She was debating whether to open the bottle or to wait for him to when a movement in the doorway caught her attention. Looking up, she felt heat rise on her cheeks, her jaw slackening. As a child, the fairy tales her mother read to her taught her that beautiful things were good, and evil things were ugly. Hags were ugly, princes were handsome. And even though as an adult she knew this wasn't always the case, there was something deeply unfair about the man in the doorway looking as he did.

The filthy clothes were gone, he was dressed head to foot in black, save for the pink scarf he'd arrived back in. His trousers were looser than he usually wore, though still close-fitted, and his jumper was tight, the neckline a slash across his collar bones. Occasional droplets of water fell from his loose hair, the kohl around his eyes not quite washed away, smudged and shadowed. He looked beautiful, and the smile on his face as he watched her reaction told her that he knew it, that it was deliberate.

She looked away, fumbling with the cork on the bottle, her hands slippery. She tensed when he crouched behind her, reaching his arms around her to take the bottle. He kept her enfolded in them as he eased the champagne cork loose, the bottle opening with a pop and a hiss, but he didn't spill a drop.

The atmosphere was too charged and Liz broke it, "I tried to keep the food warm, but…"

"Don't worry, Princess," he murmured against the back of her ear. "We'll have a drink first."

Liz clenched her jaw, anger prickling at her. An hour ago he'd been raging about the lack of food, and now he didn't care.

"You do like champagne, don't you?" he asked, finally releasing her. He didn't wait for an answer, filling a glass for her and holding it out. She took it, before scooting away and sitting on one of the cushions, using the food as a wall between them.

He raised an eyebrow, and sat back himself. "Do you want to eat now or sommat?" he asked and she shook her head, putting the glass down beside her. "You ain't still upset about earlier, are you?" he asked, sipping his drink. She shook her head again, turning to look into the fire. "What is it then? Because I thought we'd sorted it all out. You were fine before I went up. But now you've got a face on. Why are you trying to ruin it?"

"I'm not. I'm sorry."

He took another sip of his drink before putting it down carefully and looking at her.

Instantly, she braced herself, her eyes pleading, drawing her knees up as if they could defend her.

"I ain't going to hurt you," he said, rolling his eyes. "How unreasonable do you think I am? I'm just a bit confused. Last I knew, we had a bit of a kiss, I went for a shower and now suddenly you're being like this."

When she didn't respond, he sighed theatrically and picked his glass back up. "Talk to me, Princess. This ain't going to work if we don't talk."

Liz stared at him. "What won't work?"

"Us."

"Us? What 'us'? I'm not your girlfriend, Scabior, I'm your hostage." All of the anger, the fear Liz had kept inside for the last seven weeks spewed out of her in a torrent of words.

"You took me from my tent and you made me cook and clean up after you. I had to lie awake every night until you'd finished with Jenny. You hit me and you threw food at me and you threatened me. And then you took over my house, my bed, and you kissed me and then you left me for a week. Alone. At Christmas. You handed my cousin to that werewolf and then you Crucioed me. Do you think that's normal? Do you think that's how people treat each other? You're insane," she spat. "You're insane and you're deluded and there isn't an 'us' and there will never be an 'us' and I want you out of my life," her chest was heaving, adrenaline pumping through her, her hands shaking as she waited for him to lash out, feeling liberated by her speech.

But all he did was raise an eyebrow and take another sip of his drink.

"Go," she screamed suddenly, throwing her glass at him. It smashed against the wall behind him and they lunged for each other at the same moment. Liz tried desperately to hit him, to claw at him, to at least leave some kind of mark on him. He, in turn, pinned her arms to her sides, wrapping his around her, holding her against him while she raged.

"Elizabeth," he said quietly and with that all the fight went out of her. Liz dissolved into tears, hating him for disarming her, hating herself for letting him. He continued to hold her, almost rocking her in his arms as she sobbed loudly. When she was finally spent, he lifted her, sitting on the sofa and carrying her with him, cradling her like a child. She couldn't look up, burying her face in the vanilla-scented scarf, too exhausted to be afraid of his retaliation.

"We should go out," he said calmly and Liz looked up at him. "That's what this is, you've got cabin fever. Been cooped up for too long. We'll go out, it's New Year's. I'll charm the food and we can eat it when we get back. We'll go down to London, watch the fireworks."

"Did you hear anything I said," she asked in horror.

"'Course I did. But it's subtext, ain't it? Bit of fresh air and you'll feel loads better. You're still a bit upset because I left you alone. So I'll fix it."

"You used the Cruciatus curse on me!"

"Only a bit. It weren't at full power. And I was upset too, you know. Coming back to that. I'd been looking forward to it for ages. I snapped. I told you before, I'm only human," he smiled and nodded at her. "You go and sort your face out and then we'll head off. Tell you what; I'll clean up the glass while you do. I 'ope that weren't part of a set," his smile widened and he stood, forcing her to her feet. "Off you pop."

He turned and drew his wand to vanish the glass. For a split-second Liz froze, the thought of snatching the wand and turning it on him consuming her. But the fight went out of her again and she found herself heading to the bathroom, obeying him like a dog.

Once again she found she couldn't look at herself in the mirror, couldn't meet her own eyes as she washed her face. She tried to conceal the shadows under her eyes, added blusher to her cheeks, though the colour looked too bright against her pale skin. A trace of mascara and a cursory brush of her hair and she gave up. It didn't matter.

He waited for her at the foot of the stairs. "There, bet you feel loads better. We'll have a proper chat when we get home," he said and Liz shuddered. "Best get your coat, it'll be colder out there," he smiled. "Right, serious talk before we go. Are you going to behave out there, or do I need to Imperio you?"

Liz gaped at him. "That's another Unforgivable…"

Scabior shrugged. "It won't hurt you. I just don't want you having hysterics out there and showing me up. If you can promise to behave, and stay with me at all times, I won't need to. But if you're going to act out again, it'll be for the best."

"I'll behave," Liz said, her words laced with self-loathing.

"Good girl," he held out his hand for hers, raising it to his lips when she gave it to him. "Quick kiss and then we'll go and have a nice night and you'll feel better."

Dutifully, Liz leaned up, pressing her mouth against his, her eyes open. He closed his, kissing her for a moment before pulling away and leading her out of her home.

The lane was dark as he pulled her behind the house, into the copse, so they could apparate. "I might get called off," he spoke quietly as they walked. "Work, but I'll bring you back first, yeah?" He didn't wait for her reply, pulling her to him and twisting.

Seconds later, Liz's spinning vision cleared and she could smell something utterly vile. They had apparated into an alleyway behind a restaurant, and the bins were overflowing with discarded food. She squeaked involuntarily when she saw a rat, pressing against Scabior, who grinned.

"He won't hurt you, Princess, not while I'm 'ere. Come on," he clasped her hand tightly and pulled her onto the crowded street. "No funny business," he reminded her as he wove his way through the milling people. They smelt of alcohol, of happiness, the girls shrieking with laughter, the men's voices booming and Liz pressed against Scabior again, disoriented by all the lights and noise. She'd never liked London at the best of times, but tonight, with thousands lining the streets and after being so isolated for so long, it was too much.

He appeared to approve of her closeness to him, planting a kiss on her hair and squeezing her hand as he marched through the crowd. "I've got an idea," he said, suddenly darting down an alley and dragging her with him. "Hold on," he pulled her to him and whipped around.

Liz's first thought when they arrived was that he'd brought them into the middle of a hurricane. Wind whipped her hair about and she struggled to catch it. His hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Careful," he chastised and she turned and almost fainted.

They were high, very high, looking over the river; she could see the houses of Parliament down to their left, Big Ben beside them, hundreds and hundreds of people below them, on boats, on bridges, on roofs. All lower than where they stood, battered by the wind. He'd brought them to the spire of Westminster Abbey.

She turned to look at him, vertigo overwhelming her and she clung tightly to his arm. He laughed and pulled her back against one of the walls of the famous church spire. "We'll be all right here. No crowds," he said.

No escape, she thought, her eyes closed.

"Sit," he said, dropping down and pulling her with him. He seemed perfectly at ease, his legs crossed, pulling a small flask out from his pocket. "Brought some brandy to keep out the cold," he offered it to her and she shook her head, bracing her hands out either side of where she sat. "Suit yourself," he replied, pulling the lid open with his teeth and drinking. "Thought about Big Ben itself, but we'd have been rocked right off the top when the chimes went."

Liz swallowed audibly, her eyes still closed.

"I'll keep you safe, Princess," he said and she realised he was still trying to atone for hurting her earlier, still trying to make her forgive him.

"Why do you do it?" she asked, raising her voice over the wind.

"Do we have to do this now? Can't it wait 'til we're home?" he turned to look at her and she dropped her gaze. He sighed heavily and drew his wand, tutting when she flinched. He flicked it and there was silence, the sound of the wind blocked by his spell. "Why do I do what?"

Liz took a deep breath. "Hurt me. Why do you hurt me and then try and be nice to me?"

He shrugged. "I lash out, don't I? Temper gets the better of me. You hurt me and it makes me want to hurt you back. You're just as bad."

"Excuse me?" Liz said.

"You lobbed a glass at me earlier. Why d'you do that?"

Liz's mouth gaped. "Because! Because I was angry that you-"

"Exactly," he said. "You was angry. Same as me. Maybe it just takes you a bit longer to get that angry."

She stared at him, unable to argue with his logic, unwilling to believe he was manipulating her again. He seized his chance and continued.

"I ain't stupid. I know when I've been a bastard. So I try and fix it, after. Ain't like I've got a Time-Turner and I can go back and sort it. I'm doing my best. Ain't easy for me."

She paused for a second, staring down at the now-silent revelry below. "Why did you come back?"

"I like you, well enough. You're nice and you can cook. S'nice to have a house to go to."

"Why me, why not Jenny?"

"You ain't gonna let it go, are you? Merlin, woman," he huffed. "Fine. I dunno. You're different to her."

"Because I'm a – because I'm not as experienced?"

"Ain't just that. You're just… different," he shrugged again. "You ain't boring."

Liz closed her eyes, raising a hand to rub her forehead. "Not boring?"

"Yeah, I dunno. Just, normally, I get bored. And before you start, it ain't about sex. So don't start thinking that if you do it with me I'll piss off. I won't."

"So it's the house, you like having a house to come back to?"

"I dunno, Princess. I don't know what it is, all right? It is how it is. I told you that, until I say otherwise."

"Where's Jenny now?" Liz pushed him.

"With Greyback. She's all right. Anything else? Because I reckon the fireworks are about to start."

"Just… What can I do to make you not hurt me?"

Scabior turned to her. "Don't do nothing stupid."

She was about to ask what he meant, when he leant forward suddenly, lifting the spell. Noise flooded back in and Liz held her hands to her ears as the great clock began to chime the New Year's arrival to her left. Above them the sky exploded into colour, the air bright and dazzling with stars, singing rising to reach them from the streets. At some point he must have pulled her into his arms, because then they were kissing, fevered, desperate kisses, her hands tugging his hair, his teeth grazing her lips as he struggled for purchase on them. She clung to him, pressing against him, kissing him as if he were the last safe place in the world, pushing everything else away but the taste of him.


	18. Chapter 17

Their journey home was a series of tangled limbs and hot wet mouths, punctuated with pauses while he apparated. He pulled her through the front door, up the stairs, his mouth and hands all over her. It was easier like this, Liz mused absently, as he pulled her dress over her head, his mouth returning to hers immediately after, easier to not think, to just be.

With her eyes closed she could give herself over to feeling, his clever hands unhooking her bra, pinching her nipples and kneading her breasts. With his hands on her she didn't have to think of hatred, or fear, or escape. He pulled off the scarf and hung it almost reverently on the back of the door, before pulling her back to him. He shed the rest of their clothes piece by piece, hers, then his, pressing the lines of his hard, lean body against her. His palm brushed her stomach before sliding lower, pulling slightly at the hair that covered her mound before his fingers invaded her again. She gasped into his mouth and he responded, stroking her with his thumb as his fingers moved in and out of her.

Despite her education through the stories of her cavalier cousin, Liz had secretly believed sex and love went hand-in-hand. That to truly enjoy yourself with someone meant to cherish them. Until him, she'd thought that the two couldn't be separate, but two halves of the same whole. But she didn't love Scabior, she truly despised him, so it was a revelation that he was able to make her feel like this, to make her want his hands on her. Her disgust changed to desire when he touched her. In the darkness, when he wasn't scrutinising her, or talking, she could put aside her dreams of freedom and give in to him. And that was something she was coming to realise she did want. Jenny had been right, he was handsome and he was good at what he did and some new, emerging part of her accepted that and wanted it. In the darkness, when she was naked and at her most vulnerable, he was somehow less of a monster.

He guided her to the bed, slow steps backwards so he could keep touching her, his mouth on her neck, nipping the skin between sharp teeth. He let her go, the absence of his fingers making her moan quietly with frustration and she heard his soft laugh in response. He lay her down, kissing her neck, her stomach, his hands gripping her thighs tightly and pulling them apart. Then his mouth was on her, his tongue caressing and flicking across her and her spine arched, lifting her hips from the bed. He took the chance to cup her buttocks, pulling her against his mouth and her fingers fisted in the sheets to her side.

His grip was tight, keeping her against his lips even as her hips bucked, writhing against his face. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her breath coming in loud pants as he lapped greedily at her, the strokes faster, harder.

She came violently, shuddering into his mouth, her body jerking as uncontrollably as it had when he'd cursed her. But this was pure pleasure, still hot, still overwhelming, but this sensation she wanted to ride out, wanted to continue. As she came back to herself she looked down at where he still crouched between her knees, his face red, his own breathing heavy. She could see his lips and chin glistening where her juices coated him, but she didn't feel embarrassed as he wiped them away on the back of his arm. He crawled up the bed towards her, lying against her so she could feel his hardness pressing against her hip.

He reached out and pushed her hair away from her face, the strands damp with sweat. He looked down at her for a moment and she realised he was going to speak and if he spoke the spell would break and she didn't want it to. As firmly as she could she wrapped her fingers around his cock. His eyes widened, looking down at her, the challenge in them apparent and she tentatively moved her hand back and forth over his shaft. He hissed softly, his pupils dilating and she felt a spark of triumph. She tightened her grip, gaining confidence, her wrist rolling back and forth as she pleasured him. Again she realised Jenny had been right, there was a power in this. Now it was his turn to shake, to gasp, to claw at her, his moans low and tinged with need. Now he was at her mercy. She wondered what he'd do if she stopped, would it hurt him? She didn't have chance to find out, his hand curled over hers, squeezing, increasing the pressure and guiding her with ever-increasing speed. His mouth sought hers and he kissed her messily. His cock jerked in her hand and he froze, his mouth open, his eyes unseeing and she felt wetness on her ribs.

As he rolled back on the bed she looked down to see the liquid, his spilled seed, on her skin. She stared at it for a moment before pulling at the sheet, using the corner to wipe herself clean. When she turned back he was watching her.

As in sleep, post-orgasm Scabior looked almost innocent, his eyes clear of malice and anger. He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes raking over her face, and she turned to mirror his position. They watched each other for a moment, before he leant forward and placed soft kisses on her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips.

"I'll try," he said softly.

Liz shook her head in confusion. "Try what?"

He looked away. "To not hurt you. I can try."

She nodded before taking a deep breath. "Can I have my wand back?"

"No."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because I don't trust you not to try and leg it."

"What if I promise not to? What if I promise to be here when you get back?"

It was his turn to shake his head. "How's that going to work, Princess? You said there weren't an 'us'."

"Maybe we could try?" she suggested.

The corner of his lip curled. "Yeah? You and me? I weren't born yesterday, you know. I might not talk all fancy like but that don't make me thick as pig shit, you know. If I gave you your wand, you'd be long gone. And I ain't got time to try and find you and Potter."

Liz dropped onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

"I said I'd try," Scabior said and she nodded, closing her eyes.

He nuzzled against her, burying his face against her neck. She opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the scarf. The rest of the clothes he'd dropped to the floor, as was his custom, but that garment…

"Was it a Christmas present?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied, not knowing what she was referring to. "I told you I try and fix stuff, so I did that. I like the present you gave me, too," she felt his smile against her skin.

"Not that," she coloured slightly. "The scarf."

He stiffened temporarily before he relaxing. "Yeah, of sorts."

Liz almost hated herself for asking her next question. "Was it from Jenny?"

He shook his head against hers. "Nope."

Liz felt an unfamiliar pang of jealousy before chastising herself. Of course there were other girls. She'd been in a camp with him for six weeks, hearing first-hand how often he seemed to need release. He was away for six nights, Merlin, that could mean at least six other women he'd taken to bed. Not that she cared.

"Boys'll be back with me tomorrow," he said sleepily. "Best do sommat filling for tea. We're getting close, I can feel it."

"To Potter?"

"Yeah. Once I've got him…" his voice trailed off and she listened as his breathing slowed, drifting into sleep, but she couldn't. Once he'd got Potter, what? He'd be rich. Would he let her go then?

She stared up at the ceiling, his breath warm against her neck. She wondered what she'd have done over the last seven weeks if he hadn't taken her. Work, possibly gone out. Christmas alone, or with Jenny. Would she have gone out last night? Would she have kissed someone as the clock struck twelve? Would she now be lying tangled in bed with them?

It was 1998. And she was naked, in bed with a Snatcher, an ex-convict she simultaneously feared and wanted. In all of her wildest fantasies about a life like Jenny's, she'd never imagined this one.


	19. Chapter 18

She was woken the next morning by soft kisses to her face. Opening her eyes, she saw he was lying next to her, fully dressed. He smiled when her eyes met his and she felt her own lips curve in response.

"Morning, Princess," he said softly, before pressing his mouth to hers. His tongue pushed her lips open, his hands cupping her face and she responded, her eyes closing as she kissed him back. He tasted of tea and mint and for a few moments she lost herself in their embrace, before he pulled away.

"Sorry, love. Gotta get to work. Be back later though, yeah?"

She nodded and he smiled again. "What time is it?" she asked.

"'Bout half eleven. I've been out and got some bits and bobs. Down on the kitchen table when you get up. No rush. Should be back around eight-ish. You gonna be all right?"

There was a faint warning in the question and she smiled brightly. "Fine. Erm… Thank you."

"Welcome," he kissed her one last time before standing. He smiled at her from the doorway before she heard him make his way down the stairs, the door slamming behind him.

So, today she was dealing with Sweet Scabior. That was a new one. Sighing, she dragged herself out bed to shower.

True to his word, the kitchen table was laden with bags when she entered the kitchen and she busied herself unpacking them while the kettle boiled. Two of them were alcohol, another contained bread and pasta. She unpacked sauces, cheese, biscuits and fruit, putting them all away as she sipped her coffee. Meat went into the freezer, and she marvelled at the way it was holding up despite all the magic in the house. Mentally going through the ingredients and remembering his words from the night before, she decided to make spaghetti Bolognese for them when they returned.

So he was trying, she mused later, curled up in her father's chair with another mug of coffee. It hadn't just been words. It would be tolerable if it lasted, if he could keep it up. She wondered what he'd be like when the others were there too, knowing from experience he loved nothing better than an audience. Could he remember to be nice when his men were watching? She drained her mug, padding through to the kitchen to stir the Bolognese, the aroma of garlic and oregano drifting out of the steaming pot.

She heard the front door fly open, the hallway filled with a cacophony of male voices and she turned, pasting a smile on her face. Rowley, Ratter and Davey burst into the kitchen, grinning and chatting.

"Happy New Year, Liz," Rowley said as she gazed over his shoulder for their leader. "Got a message for you from the boss. 'E says… let me get this right… 'E says ''e's up the Ministry sorting some stuff, 'e don't reckon 'e'll be long. We're to go ahead and eat but you're to wait for 'im. Oh yeah – ain't no need for a message in a bottle'. That make sense to you?"

Liz nodded, rolling her eyes as she turned to lift plates down for the men. They ate noisily at the table, exchanging stories about their New Year. Liz wondered if perhaps Scabior prevented them from chatting while they were searching for their targets, the words spilling out of them now. If she didn't know better, she'd think they were just normal young men, her age, back at work for the first time after the holidays. Her stomach grumbled as she watched them eat, perturbed that he was making her wait to eat with him. She poured herself a glass of wine to quell both the irritation and the hunger.

When they'd finished, she cleared away after them, putting her and Scabior's food to the side to reheat. Glancing at the clock, she tutted when she saw it had just gone half ten. At this rate it would be too late to eat anyway. She made her way into the living room where the men were playing cards, poker, from the look of the game. She carried her glass and the rest of the bottle to her chair and sat, watching them.

"Wanna play?" Rowley asked and she shook her head.

"I don't know how to," she replied.

"I could teach you, if you like?"

"No, I'm fine, I'll watch you."

Rowley was good, she could see that, and his pile of knuts soon became the largest. When the clock struck twelve they all looked up, surprised.

"S'late," Ratter said pointlessly. "I'd've thought he'd be back now."

"Me too," Liz said darkly, draining her glass and refilling it again.

"I might go on up," Ratter said and Davey nodded in agreement.

"Dave, you take the other half of the bed, I'll wait with Liz and then kip down 'ere once 'e's back."

Davey didn't need the offer twice, rising swiftly in case Rowley changed his mind, following Ratter from the room.

"Poor kid," Rowley muttered, watching him go. "What a mess."

"You don't have to wait with me," said Liz. "I'll be all right."

"I don't mind, ain't that tired if I'm honest."

"Scabior would say you're not working hard enough, then," Liz said, winning a smile from the Snatcher.

"'E wouldn't say it so nicely either," he parried. "Still though, ain't feeling much like sleep at the moment."

Liz could hear the invitation to question his comment, and she looked over at him, sipping her wine. "Are you all right?"

Rowley shrugged. "Yeah. Me and the missus broke up over the holidays. Turns out her parents ain't keen on Snatchers. So that's that."

"I'm sorry," Liz said softly and he shrugged again.

"Ain't surprisin'. We don't get a good rap from the Prophet, so they've got all these ideas about us all being monsters that take women and…" he trailed off, remembering who he was talking with. "Yeah, well. Not all of us. Sorry."

Liz smiled wryly. Despite the way they'd met, she quite liked Rowley. He'd always been kind to her, always treated her with respect. "It's fine. Not a lot I can do about it. And it won't be forever. Why don't you get yourself a drink if you're staying up anyway?"

He thought about it for the moment before nodding, fetching himself a beer and returning.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Liz asked.

"About Clemmie? Nah, I've told you. We broke up. That's the story. I went to me mum's and that was that. What about you? Nice Christmas?"

Liz looked at him. It seemed that Scabior hadn't mentioned Greyback's arrival and their hunt, whatever it was he'd been doing, the rest of his men didn't know.

"Quiet," she said finally, staring into the fire.

Rowley's gaze joined hers and the pair sat in silence for a moment. "Let me teach you to play poker," said Rowley. "Go on, it'll be fun, give us sommat to do 'til 'e gets back."

"I don't really think it's my game," Liz said gently. "Do you know Rummy?"

"Rummy? The kids game? Three and Four?" Rowley said.

"That's the one. I'll play that with you, if you like?"

"Ain't played that in ages. Go on then. I'll be dealer.

Liz moved to sit on the sofa, keeping the middle seat clear for the cards. He shuffled, dealt them, giving her the eight and placing the deck in the space. One game turned into five, then ten, both of them drinking and laughing, Liz with the delight of winning and Rowley with incredulity at her luck. One o'clock passed, and then two, but neither noticed, absorbed in the game, Liz more relaxed than she had been in weeks. She did like this man, he was warm and nice and fun and there were no edges to him, no warning signal in the back of her mind when he moved. Liz finished her wine, he his beer and they opened another bottle between them, Liz crowing as she pulled the card she needed from the pile.

"You ain't won again?" Rowley spluttered and she nodded, holding her hand up to show him.

"No way, you've got to be cheatin', that's twelve games in a row. No-one's that lucky."

"Don't be a sore loser," Liz chided him gleefully.

"You've got a spare deck up your sleeves, ain't you? You're dealing 'em out when I ain't looking. C'mere!" he lunged for her and she shrieked, laughing as pinned her to the sofa and pulled at her cardigan, examining the sleeves. It took her a moment to notice he'd frozen.

"Rowley?" she asked, pushing him away so she could see him properly. He was staring at the doorway and Liz suddenly knew what he was looking at.

Scabior stood, his wand pointed at the two of them, murder in his eyes.

Rowley jumped off her and she sat up, her lips forming the beginnings of an explanation when a blast of green light erupted from Scabior's wand. Rowley slumped to the floor, his still-open eyes focussed on nothing and Liz looked back at Scabior, her mouth open in a silent scream.

"He was an only child," Scabior said calmly. "His poor old mum'll be gutted."

Liz's heart thundered in her chest as she stared at him. "Scabior…"

He flew across the room at her, grabbing her by the throat and forcing her to her knees, her face only inches away from Rowley's.

"Look at what you fucking did!" he screamed at her. "Look at it!"

Liz closed her eyes, only for them to fly back open when he hauled her to her feet. He let go of her, turning slightly away before rearing back around and punching her in the face. She heard something in her nose crunch under the impact, blood flowing down over her chin as she was knocked off her feet. Then he was on her, punching her over and over, any place he could reach, each blow making her ears ring, the attack relentless and brutal. She tried to cover her face, to curl in on herself but the blows kept coming, raining down on her, his ring cutting her as he grabbed at her face so he could hit it again. He stood, and for a brief moment she thought the attack was over, but then his boot connected with her ribs, another crack resonating across the room. He kicked her repeatedly, her back, her legs, her stomach, before stopping, his breath coming in huge pants. He hauled her up to sit before him, ignoring her shriek as her ribs jarred painfully.

He sat in front of her, his head tilted to side, examining his handiwork with cold dispassion before he spat in her face. She felt his saliva mingle with the blood, her eyes too swollen to form tears. Again he grabbed her by her hair and dragged her back to Rowley's corpse, dropping her on top of it.

"He was one of my best," he said, his voice calm again, matter-of-fact. "I hope you're proud of yourself."

When she didn't replied he kicked her again, sending a sickening wave of pain through her body. She rolled and looked up at him, waiting, praying that he'd draw his wand and end it.

He dropped down to sit on her ribs, knowingly using his full weight.

"You look a fucking mess," he said as he wrapped his hands around her throat. Involuntarily, Liz began to kick as he squeezed the life from her, pulling at his hands, until the pain and lack of oxygen turned everything black.


	20. Chapter 19

She opened her eyes slowly, the lids feeling heavy. There was light behind the curtains and she wondered how long she'd slept for. Twisting on to her side, she stretched slightly, before pausing. There was something…

Memories from the night before hit her hard and she gasped, sitting bolt right up in bed. Rowley laughing, then Rowley dead at her feet, Scabior flying at her, pummelling her, kicking her, spitting at her. His hands around her neck… He was sat on a chair at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, watching her. She shot backwards, pinning herself against the headboard, clutching at the quilt as if it could shield her. He said nothing, did nothing, just sat, his eyes on her as she gaped back at him.

That was what was wrong. She didn't ache. She should be in agony, unable to move, unable to even open her eyes. With her gaze still on him she pressed her fingers against her ribs subtly behind the cover. Nothing. No pain, no sign of a break and yet she knew he'd broken at least one rib. When he didn't move she raised her hands slowly to her face, tentatively pressing against her cheeks and forehead. She slid a finger down the bridge of her nose, it felt as straight as ever, certainly not the smashed mess he'd left when he'd hit her. There were no cuts, no swelling, and she wondered whether it really had happened the night before, or whether she'd been asleep for longer.

"I healed you," he said, his voice level, conversational. She stared at him, her heart hammering again. "Not that you deserved it after the way you behaved, but still," he uncrossed his legs and stood and Liz instantly backed into the corner, pressing against the wall, looking around for anything she could use to defend herself. He tutted loudly and dragged the chair to the side of the bed, sitting back down and leaning forward slightly as he watched her.

"I ain't been to work for the last two days. I've been 'ere, keeping an eye on you. You're out of Dittany by the way," he sighed, looking at her. "Right, I get it, the silent treatment. You've got a nerve, Princess."

Liz gaped at him, trying to find her voice.

"Thank you?" he prompted her. "That's the phrase you're looking for. 'Thank you, Scabior, for picking me up and cleaning me off. Thank you, Scabior for healing me and looking after me. Thank you, Scabior, for cleaning up downstairs.' Well?"

He was serious. He was deadly serious, she realised. He wanted her to thank him.

"S'pretty ungrateful, Princess. After everything you did, I still stayed and took care of you. "

"Everything _I_ did?" she whispered. "You killed him-"

"Oh no," he leant further forward and she flattened back against the wall. "You ain't pinning that on me, sunshine. You don't blame the weapon for the user's actions. You don't blame a wand for the way the wizard uses it. I told you not to do nothing stupid, you know how easily I get upset and yet there you were, pissed out of your face and writhing around under him. What was I supposed to do? Ask if you wanted a minute to finish up?"

"We weren't doing anything," she whimpered. "We were waiting for you."

"Do you often wait for me with one of my Snatchers grinding against you?" he sat back in the chair, his arms folded. "I know what I saw. And I won't pretend I weren't angry, but it's over now. In the past. We need to move on."

"You're mad," Liz whispered, her voice high and ragged. "You killed your friend and you battered me and you're trying to tell me it's all in the past?"

"I fixed you, didn't I? I didn't leave you like that."

"You tried to kill me!"

He snorted. "Princess, if I'd tried to kill you, you'd be dead and we wouldn't be trying to sort things out."

"We're not trying to sort things out-"

"That's because you won't let us," he shouted. She cowered against the wall and he shook his head in exasperation. "Look, yeah, I ain't saying what I did was right, but you can't say I didn't warn you. You know what I'm like when I get cross. I see red and then I don't know what I'm doing. We had that chat the night before and you asked me what you needed to do to stop me from hurting you. And I told you, I said it plain and straight 'Don't do nothing stupid'."

"You killed him."

"I wish you'd stop going on about that. _You_ killed him," he emphasised her blame. "You used a weapon – me – and whether you meant to or not, his blood is on your hands. I know it ain't a nice feeling but the best thing you can do now to honour his memory is to face up to it."

Liz shook her head wildly, the urge to bolt past him and hide making her lags shake.

"Princess, look at it from my point of view. We have a lovely night and morning and I'm made up that we finally seem to be coming to an agreement about stuff. I buy all that food and leave it here. Then I get held up by Umbridge and, being the nice bloke that I am, I send the boys off and I deal with it. Six hours later, I'm knackered, and starving and alls I want to do is come 'ome and cuddle up with you for a bit. I walk in the front door and there you are on the sofa, Rowley on top of you, pulling at your clothes and the pair of you laughing. Can you see why I might be a bit put out?"

"A bit 'put out'? We weren't – We were playing cards and he thought I was cheating and he was checking my sleeves…"

"Ain't how it looked, love, that's all I'm saying. How much had you drank?"

Liz shook her head, his words buzzing in her ears. "I don't know. I'm not sure."

"Well, I can tell you. You'd had a bottle of wine to yourself and you'd started a second. Had you eaten?"

"You told me to wait for you…" Liz whispered, as a whisper of guilt started to wind its way through her.

"Yeah, when I thought I'd be back at nine. I didn't bloody mean starve until I'm back, what do you take me for?" he shook his head again. "So you'd had a bottle and then some on an empty stomach, Elizabeth, – how can you be sure about what was happening? Or what would have happened next?"

She stared at him. Merlin, he was right. He was right, wasn't he? Was he right? She couldn't tell but it made sense. She had been drunk, she knew she was. And then of course Rowley had pinned her down and it must have looked… She clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at Scabior.

"Oh no…" she whispered. "Oh please, please no."

In her horror she didn't see the gleam of relief in his eyes. "Sorry, Princess. I thought about Obliviating you, to make it easier on you, but I can't be the one who makes those decisions about you. Not anymore."

Liz nodded dumbly. Poor Rowley, poor Rowley's mum. "No, don't," she said finally.

"I'm proud of you," he said, moving slowly and sitting on the edge of the bed. When she didn't flinch or move away, he kicked his legs up and held out an arm to her. "And I know I didn't help by going off on one, and I regret it. I do. I want to make it up to you."

She looked at him, looked at his arm inviting her to sit with him and as if in a trance she found herself moving towards him, tucking herself in against his side. He kissed the side of her head and she closed her eyes. It was too much, too confusing and it made sense but then it made no sense and she wanted her mum, or Jenny, or someone, anyone to explain it to her. But all she had was him.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, unsure whether she was talking to him, to Rowley, or to herself.

He replied anyway. "It's all right, Princess. It'll be all right now. I reckon it might be best if I keep the boys away from 'ere for now. We don't want any more misunderstandin's, do we?"

She shook her head against his chest.

"Good girl," he said. "And you don't need to worry about being alone all day either. I thought of that and I've got a little surprise downstairs for you if you want it? Got Ratter to bring it round."

She didn't think she could move, her body felt heavy and old. "Later" she said, unable to see his frown.

"I could bring it up," he offered and she nodded. He kissed her again and bounced off the bed. "Back in two secs," he grinned and darted down the stairs.

Liz leant against the headboard, staring at the wall ahead. She'd killed someone, someone she liked, all because she couldn't stop being stupid. She was a fool and now someone had died because of it. She knew she should be angry with Scabior about his assault on her, but she couldn't muster up the energy. It seemed petty to rage at him when she sat there, healed in her bed while Rowley was dead somewhere. She closed her eyes, opening them suddenly when something small and warm landed in her lap. She looked down and to her surprise a tiny, fluffy grey kitten was stumbling around on the bed clothes, its eyes still blue. Gently, she reached out and picked it up, her lip quirking as it mewled at her. She settled it against her chest, unknowingly smiling when it stopped wriggling and nestled against her.

Scabior sat next to her, tucking her under his arm, kissing her head again. "I thought maybe you could call him 'Rowley'," he said and the name spoken aloud cut through Liz like a knife. "Be a way of remembering him, like."

Liz blanched; realising if she called the kitten that, she'd be constantly reminded of what she'd done. But then she steeled herself, nodding with certainty. She should be reminded. Her thoughtlessness had killed him, so now she'd keep him in her thoughts. She'd be better with this one. She'd take care of this one.

"That's my girl," Scabior smiled.


	21. Chapter 20

He was so kind, so gentle with her for the rest of the day. She stayed in bed, and he sat with her, bringing her tea, reading to her from her childhood books, playing with the kitten. Liz stayed quiet. She marvelled at his hands as he stroked the sleeping animal. How could such hands, with their long, tapering fingers and almost elegant knuckles, be capable of both such gentleness and such cruelty?

She'd gone to take a shower, only realising as she did that he'd undressed her at some point, slipping one of her mother's nightgowns over her body. It was soft, old-fashioned satin and lace, reaching to the floor and in it she looked like a ghost, her skin almost the same colour as the ivory material. She almost wished he'd left her with some bruises; some physical reminder of his actions but his healing had been thorough. There were no finger marks where he'd squeezed her throat, no lacerations where his ring had cut her. Her nose looked like her nose, her ribs were all intact. Physically, she looked the same as ever, but inside… Inside she felt small and cold. She'd worried while she showered, going through the motions quickly, terrified of leaving him alone with the kitten. But when she'd returned, dressed again in the nightgown, the kitten had been happily asleep on his chest and he looked up at her with soft eyes. When he'd opened his arms to her she'd gone to him without a moment's hesitation. Perhaps he was right, perhaps she had deserved it. And he had taken such great care with her since.

He'd brought soup for her to eat, tearing up bread and passing it to her, then clearing the dishes without a cross word. He stroked her hair and her arms, kissing her forehead repeatedly, not pushing for more. Later, when night had fallen and he'd decided it was time for them to sleep, he'd left his trousers on, as if to reassure her that his intentions were, for the time being at least, pure. But Liz couldn't sleep, seeing Rowley's face, his eyes fixed and staring upwards, every time she closed her eyes and she trembled, suddenly wracked with sobs. Even then he was kind, holding her loosely while she cried. She worried the aurors would come and arrest her, that she'd have to go to Azkaban, that the dementors would kiss her. She wrestled with the thought of Rowley's mother sobbing as she found out her only child was gone. Throughout it all, Scabior murmured gently to her, telling her she was all right, that everything would be all right, that he'd take care of her.

At dawn she finally calmed, dozing off in his arms. She woke from a nightmare an hour later, screaming incoherently, convinced he was coming towards her with a wicked blade in his grip. Again he hushed her, reassuring her before padding softly down the stairs and returning with tea. She could smell the fumes from the brandy in it but drank it down anyway. The alcohol burned her, burning away some of her fears and she finally started to drift off again. Her last conscious thought was that despite everything he'd done to her, he'd not said sorry. He'd made tea and he'd held her but he'd never apologised for any of it.

When she woke again the room was dark and she could hear his soft breathing next to her. Cautiously, she moved, and he instantly did the same.

"You awake?" he whispered.

She toyed with the idea of remaining silent but decided it wouldn't help. "Yes. Sorry."

"Don't be daft. How're you feelin'?"

"Fine," she said.

"Shall we go downstairs for a bit? Pop the fire on."

Downstairs. The living room. Rowley's body at the foot of the sofa, Scabior kicking her across the room. She swallowed.

"I might stay here…"

"Gotta face it sometime, Princess," he said gently. "Don't worry, I'll be with you."

"Ok," she said, knowing better than to disagree with him. She could almost hear his smile as he sat up. He lifted her, cradled her against him and climbed out of the bed. He carried her all the way downstairs, lightly kicking the living room door open. He deposited her on the sofa, flicking his wand at the candles and the fireplace. She kept her eyes closed at first, listening as his footsteps left the room, the sound of a bottle being uncorked and its contents added to glasses. Before he could return, she opened her eyes. The room looked as it always had; no outlines on the wooden floor, no bloodstains. He'd left no evidence anywhere, erasing it all as if it had never happened. She wondered briefly what he'd done with Rowley, but then he was back, sitting beside her, holding out a glass of Firewhiskey to her.

She took it, looking away as he peered at her with concern.

"See," he said eventually. "I sorted it all. You'd never know."

She nodded, sipping her drink. "Thank you," she said blankly.

He nodded, raising his own glass to his lips. "I'm not going in tomorrow, either. I'll stay here with you, make sure you're all right and think about going in the day after, depending on how you are."

"Fine."

He took a deep breath before sighing. "How long is this going to go on?" he asked softly.

"What?" she sipped her drink.

"This. Punishing me."

She looked up at him. "I'm not punishing you."

"Feels like it, Princess. All limp when I hold you, not looking at me, one word replies. I'm trying to show you that I want to sort things out and you're barely even listenin'. Do you want me to leave you alone, is that it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

He took a sip of his drink before standing. "Right, well, if that's what you want." He put down the glass and stood.

"I said I didn't know," she replied.

"That's a nice way of saying 'piss off', everyone knows that."

"Then yes, I would like to be alone."

She looked back at her glass, tensing as he walked past her, braced for a blow. But he kept walking and she heard him go up the stairs, moving things before he came back down.

He stood in the doorway and she watched him peripherally.

"You should be all right for food. I'll come back at the weekend, see how you're feeling then."

It took a few moments for the words to sink in and the glass slipped from her hand as she stared up at him, stunned.

"What?"

"You've got enough food in, you won't starve. I'll come back Saturday or Sunday," he spoke slowly, as though talking to a child

"You're leaving? You're leaving me here, alone?"

He looked at her, confusion in his eyes. "That's what you just said," he said. "You wanted to be alone."

"No! You can't leave me here. Please, Scabior, please don't leave me here alone! Not again! Not with – Please!" She almost tripped over herself in her haste to get to him, clinging to him tightly. "Please, Scabior. Please. I'm sorry, I don't want to be alone. I'm just confused. Please don't leave me, please."

She buried her head in his chest, gripping his coat and he looked down at her shaking form. She was terrified, he realised with a thrill of triumph.

"I don't get it," he said carefully. "I thought you wanted some time?"

"I don't," her voice was muffled by his clothes. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't go. Please."

"All right, Princess, calm down," he pushed her away slightly, dropping his small bag to the floor. "Whatever you want."

He led her back to the sofa and pulled her down with him, her clawing at his leather coat, pulling it from his shoulders and pushing it away before burying her face in his neck. He stroked her soothingly, patting her back.

"I'm sorry," she said, over and over. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, hey," he murmured, folding her tightly against him, able to feel the frantic pulsing of her heart through his clothes. "I'm stayin'. All right? I'm stayin'."

She pulled his face to hers, her mouth crashing against his. He was momentarily taken aback before he returned her kisses, though with more gentleness than the ones she was giving him. She read his softness as reticence and whimpered, climbing onto his lap, straddling him, pulling his hands to her breasts. He held her for a moment before pushing her away, her face a mask of horror as he did.

"Please," she said as she cupped his face in her hands. "I want you."

He didn't miss the tragic irony of her saying this half a metre from where Rowley had died, but he had to be careful. Yes, he wanted her and if he took her now, while she was so fragile, she'd be his, utterly. But, if he was solicitous now, she'd remember him as being a gentleman and not taking advantage of her at her lowest ebb, which might serve him better in the future.

He leaned forwards and kissed her gently. "Not like this, Princess," he said softly. "It ain't right."

"But I need-" she stopped, tears in her eyes as she looked down. She didn't want to beg, but she needed something, anything to take the coldness away. He took her chin softly, turning her face back to his.

"I know," he said as his hand slid under her nightgown, stroking her gently. "And I want you too. But not like this, not for your first time. Let me touch you?" She nodded and buried her head in his neck, his fingers working at her until she was wet. Gently, he pushed two into her, crooking them to stroke her as his thumb rubbed her clitoris, a dark smile on his face as she moaned softly. He bent his head to kiss her neck, running his tongue over the places his fingers had bruised just days before, caressing her with increasing pressure, moving to claim her mouth with his. He swallowed every gasp, every whimper he elicited from her as he worked, until she came, quietly, shaking against him.

He pulled his hand free and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her head. "Better?"

Liz nodded. She did feel better, less knotted inside, less confused. As she lay against him she understood what he'd just done for her. She'd almost begged him to take her and he'd refused because of her. Because he cared. Liz realised that now, he did care. He was unpredictable and violent, but he cared about her. Her father was dead, her mother vanished, Jenny off with the werewolf. But she had Scabior, at least.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Scabior smiled.


	22. Chapter 21

The game he'd started playing had changed, but he'd come to enjoy this one more. It was easy to break her body, her tiny bones crunched under his fists like sugar strands. Easy too, to make her bleed and beg for mercy, for forgiveness. Easy to make her believe whatever he wanted her to. Because she needed him.

Scabior had never been needed before. Wanted, certainly, and definitely feared but never needed. In just a few short weeks he'd narrowed this girl's world down until it contained only him and he liked it. She was his, in a way that nothing had been his before. No-one had touched her before he had; no-one had made any imprint on her until he did. It was if he'd been given the template of a girl and told to remake it into whatever he wanted. And he had. Gone was the sullen, dirty, girl who haunted his camp like a ghost and here was the new Elizabeth, custom designed for Scabior's needs. An obedient, quiet girl who responded to his touch like a violin to a maestro.

He liked the house too. Once he'd caught Potter, and he knew in his bones he would, he'd be rich. If he played his cards right, he'd never have to work again. His plan was simple, catch Potter, get rid of Elizabeth's mother, if she was still alive, and then claim the house. Then he'd have it all, money, a house and someone to cook and clean for him. If it came to it, he could always marry her. Not properly, not 'til death do us part' and fidelity and all that. But enough so she couldn't kick him out. And if she tried, he could get rid of her too. It would be perfect, going out with his mates, drinking, enjoying himself with girls. Then when he was tired, or hungry, back home to a nice dinner and an accommodating wife. He could even give her a few kiddies. He'd never fancied himself as a father, but it might keep her quiet. The war couldn't last forever, and he'd needed a plan for afterwards. And now he had one.

Liz had been relieved when he'd kept his word and stayed with her the following day. She was petrified of angering him, of making him decide to hurt her or worse, decide to go and so she devoted herself to keeping him happy. She'd showered, put on one of her nicer dresses and cooked for him, keeping his wine glass full and her smile bright. When he pulled her to the sofa, she barely flinched, closing her eyes against the spot when Rowley had died and giving herself over to his kisses. His hands had roamed her and she'd leaned into his touch, pressing against them, allowing hers to roam him in return. When she'd unbuttoned his trousers to take him in her hands, he'd stopped her, a question in his eyes.

"I'd like it a lot if you'd let me use your mouth," he said huskily.

Liz swallowed, earning a dark smile from him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean take me in your mouth. Put your lips around me."

"I don't know how," she said quietly, looking away.

"Then I'll teach you," he smiled and Liz paled. "Get on your knees," he said, pushing her lightly until she knelt between his open legs. He pulled his member free from his trousers and Liz stared at it. Though she was used to him naked, being this close to him, the musky smell of him was alien and half a promise, half a threat. "Cover your teeth," he said, moving his lips to show her.

Feeling stupid, she copied him, a bolt of fear running through her when his eyes darkened. He slid a hand to the back of her head, lightly gripping her hair and pulling her towards his lap. "Now put your mouth around it."

With his hand holding her head, she had little choice, taking the tip into her mouth. He moaned, before pressing down on her head. She panicked and tried to pull away but his fist clenched in her hair.

"Don't be a tease, Princess," he warned her. "It won't hurt you. Just take it in your mouth."

With the pressure of his hand pushing her, she took him in her mouth. When his cock hit the back of her throat, she gagged and tried to pull away but he held her fast. "Relax, Princess," he drawled. "Tighten your lips around it, I'll help you."

Her cheeks burning red with humiliation, she did, trying to wipe her mind of any thought. His hand pulled at her hair and she moved with it, only to be pushed back down a moment later. Understanding what he wanted her to do, she complied, moving her lips back and forth over his shaft, his moans telling her when she got it right. She moved her tongue and was rewarded by a sharp gasp, so tentatively she did it again, swirling it as best she could around him. She was beginning to relax, to forget when she was doing when he started to thrust into her mouth, making her gag. His hand held her firmly in place, his hips bucking, his moans desperate when she gagged and her throat opened, pushing deeper into her. Liz felt tears in her eyes, she was fighting to breathe through her nose, aware he was going to come in her mouth if she didn't do something.

But it was too late, he pumped wildly into her mouth and then froze, and she felt it hit the back of her throat, the taste slightly bitter, slightly salted. She swallowed because he gave her no choice, keeping himself in her mouth until she had. She felt him relax, felt it begin to lessen and she wrenched her head away as soon as he released her hair. She turned away from him, still retching, only glancing angrily back when she heard his chuckle.

His eyes were heavy, the lids half closed, his face relaxed. He moved to put himself away, buttoning his trousers back up. "S'always a bit uncomfortable, first time," he grinned at her. "You did good though."

She turned away, wrapping her arms around her knees, wishing for something to take the taste away. As if he'd read her mind, his hand appeared in front of her face, a glass of wine in it. She snatched it from him and gulped it down, the alcohol burning the flavour away. He moved to sit in front of her.

"Don't be pissy with me," he said. "It was your first time. 'Course it was weird. You'll get used to it. Don't upset me, Princess, not after we've had such a nice day. All right?"

She looked up at him and nodded, feeling relieved when he smiled and took her arm, hauling her up.

"Let's go to bed. I got to work tomorrow, been a while and the gold don't make itself."

She nodded and put out the candles, following him up the stairs. He used the bathroom first, making her wait an age before she could get in and brush her teeth. She scrubbed them three times before she felt they were clean enough, washing her face briefly before returning to him. He folded her into his arms and kissed her before grinning.

"Should've waited 'til you'd done your teeth. The mint makes it fucking incredible." She stiffened slightly, not wanting to do it again, and he laughed. "Calm down, Princess, you're done for now. It gets better, I swear it. Soon, you'll be begging me to let you do it." He kissed for forehead softly and tucked himself down, closing his eyes. "I like it when you're a good girl," he said sleepily. "See how well we get on when you behave yourself?"

Liz nodded, pushing away the voice in her head that called him a monster and her a coward. She shushed it when it told her to run, to fight. She could feel the edge of his wand poking her shoulder where it jutted out under the pillow, but she ignored it, closing her eyes and concentrating on sleep.


	23. Chapter 22

He'd left her in the morning, warning her firmly that he didn't want a repeat of the last two times he'd returned to her. She'd nodded feverishly, adamant that this time she'd get it right, give him no excuse to be disappointed in her. She spent the day cleaning, though she avoided the living room, and preparing their meal, determined to get it right. When he returned that evening, the house was spotless, a chicken roasting in the oven, the kitten safely asleep on her parent's bed and her robed again in one of her fancier dresses. He'd whistled appreciatively when he saw her, holding her by the arms and standing back to admire her.

"I could get used to this," he'd said as he'd pulled her in for a kiss, and for the first time in a long time Liz felt a bubble of pleasure well up inside her. She'd done it. He was happy.

She served him his food, then her own, lighting a candle between them on the table. He'd stayed at the table, watching her as she'd cleaned, she could feel his eyes on her as he'd sipped his wine. When she was done, she turned to find him standing directly behind her. He pressed her against the sink, pushing his tongue into her mouth, kissing her soundly.

"The man who marries you will be a very lucky bloke," he murmured into her, making her blush. "At this rate, I might have to keep you forever."

Both horror and joy fought for dominance inside her as he kissed her throat. Him. Forever. With him forever. A prisoner in her own home. But he'd surely give her her wand back? And she wouldn't be alone. That was a good thing. And he hadn't lied, he was nothing but kind when she pleased him. Confused, she tilted her head to catch his lips, earning herself an appreciative squeeze from him.

He took her hand, guiding her into the living room, lighting the fire and pulling her onto his lap, stroking her hair tenderly.

"What do you want to do now?" she asked.

"You," he said and she felt his smile against the top of her head. "But I can wait for that. We want to make it right, don't we?" He didn't mention the fact he'd already a woman that day, finishing with her just fifteen minutes before he'd apparated back.

They'd come across the group of Hogwarts runaways in the Forest of Dean, Scabior cackling gleefully when it emerged they were all seventh years, and both the girls in the party of five were seventeen.

He'd allowed Ratter to beat one of the boys in front of the rest and the younger Snatcher had, laying into the boy until he was unconscious. When he'd dictated that it was the next boys turn, one of the girls had turned her eyes on him, pleading. Of course she'd begged, told him she'd do anything if he'd just let them go. And Scabior had taken her at her word. After debating whether to have her himself, he delegated the task, making the girl give head to Davey while her horrified friends looked on. The expression on her face afterwards was priceless and he'd sent Ratter and Davey off with them to the Ministry while he and Greyback went to the Hogs Head.

Whilst there he bumped into a woman he'd known back in the days before he'd been sent down. She'd been married back then and they'd had some fun laughing behind her old man's back as they'd screwed, but her husband was dead now, she'd told him suggestively. When she'd beckoned him to follow her into the toilets, he'd shrugged and followed. They coupled briefly, frantically in one of the stalls, her legs around his waist as he took her against the flimsy wall. Afterwards, he'd bought her a drink and they'd chatted for a moment or two before he decided it was time to go home.

"What do you want to do?" he asked her, his thoughts returning to the present.

"I don't know. Talk?"

"Talk about what? Because if this is about your wand then-"

"No, no," Liz said, moving her head to look at him. "Not about that. Tell me… Tell me about you. Tell me about snatching?"

"Why?" his eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Why'd you want to know about that?"

"I don't know. Because it's what you do, I suppose. It's your job."

"For now," he muttered. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. I don't mind. I just – I don't know very much about you, really."

"Why do you need to know about me?" he asked. "What's to know?"

Liz shook her head. "I don't know. But you're here and we – we – I'm just interested," she finished lamely.

"If you're looking for tips on how to make me let you go, it ain't happening," he said.

"I'm not. I'm really not. I just… I don't know you."

He looked at her, his gaze penetrating and sharp for a moment. Finally, he nodded. "Where do I start?"

Liz thought for a moment. "How did you get into it?"

"I was told I was going to be doing it."

"Who told you that?"

"Ministry bitch called Umbridge. Deal was I'd get out of Azkaban if I'd Snatch for the Ministry. I said yes. End of."

"What if you'd said no?"

"What do you think?"

Liz nodded. "So, what do you do? How do you find people?"

"What's it to you? Want to replace Rowley on my team?"

"No!" Liz paled and turned away. After a moment, she felt his fingers on her chin, turning her back to him.

"I ain't used to talking about myself. Forget I said that. We just find 'em. We get a list of names of folk that the Ministry want and we hunt for them. Sometimes it's luck and we just find 'em, sometimes we go to their 'omes and ask questions, do our research on 'em and track 'em down from that. And sometimes they call us to them."

"They ask you to come for them?"

"In a manner of speaking, yeah. I can't say what it is, but there's a thing called the Taboo and if you break it, then you get an instant visit from us."

"What is it?" Liz asked.

"What did I just say? I can't tell you what it is. It's just a word and if you use it, you call the Snatchers to you."

"But if I don't know what it is, what if I say it by accident?

"You won't," he replied darkly. "And if somehow you do, pray that it's me that shows up."

Liz gulped, wondering for a brief moment before asking, "Is that how you found us?"

"Nah, we just got lucky with you."

Liz nodded, relieved to learn that she hadn't said this Taboo word and brought him to her and Jenny. "Are there lots of Snatchers?"

"Fair few. My lot, a few other gangs. Some less official, they ain't got red bands. They're just chancers looking to make some gold but they soon learn the hard way that it ain't happening. The Ministry take what they bring and don't pay 'em for it. And if we find 'em, well… we deal with 'em. It pisses me right off."

Liz blanched at his implication, grateful it wasn't aimed at her. She nodded vigorously. "What will happen when you get everyone they want?"

"I like your confidence in me," Scabior grinned. "Dunno, I'll be long out of it by then. I just want Potter and that's that."

"What happens when you get Potter?"

"You'll see, soon enough, Princess," he kissed the top of her head. "Are we done with the Inquisition now?"

Liz thought for a moment before shaking her head slowly. "Will you tell me about when you were young?"

"Whaddaya mean, 'When I was young?' I ain't some old geezer now, you know."

"I know, I know," she replied hurriedly. "I meant when you were little, you said once you were in a home?" She repressed a shudder at the memory of when he'd told her that.

"Not much to tell. Mum was a witch, s'pose my dad was magic too else I can't imagine she'd've let 'im near 'er. Never met 'im so I couldn't tell you and before you ask, no, I don't want to talk about it. It don't mean shit, Princess." Liz nodded and he continued. "So, yeah, mum was on 'er own, trying to make it work. Some Ministry folk came round and didn't like our set up so they took me away. I was in one home, then another, then another 'til Hogwarts. That was that, then, I just stayed there."

"What about the holidays?"

"Went to mates' places. Weren't that hard. It was all right. I managed."

"Did you ever see your mum again?"

"She died in my sixth year. Dragon Pox. Left me a bit of gold and that was that. I used it to start me own business."

"What did you do?" Despite herself, Liz was genuinely interested in what he was saying. His life sounded so dark, tragic, like a Dickens tale and she was intrigued by it.

"I fenced. I was a spiv. Folk'd bring me stuff they acquired and I'd help them move it on. For a fee. I set 'em up with buyers for it, like Borgin and Burkes but not as snotty. Got stuff that was a bit dodgy out of the wizarding world, let the muggles cope with it."

A spiv. Liz nodded to herself. It certainly explained the way he dressed, though she'd never heard a wizard use the word before. The only person she'd ever heard use it was her grandfather, referring to the smooth-talking men who'd come to the door offering things for sale. He'd always turned them away. "Isn't that illegal?"

Scabior rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Princess. It's pretty frowned upon."

"Is that why you were sent to-" she couldn't say the name.

"Oh no, that was for murder. I killed some bloke in a fight."

Liz gulped and nodded.

"He would've killed me if I hadn't. Just bad luck he was the nephew of someone on the Wizangamot. Life, they gave me for it. I almost bit Umbridge's hand off when she offered me an out."

"I can imagine," Liz murmured.

"And that's us up to date. Now you know my whole history. Happy?"

"Is there anything you wanted to know about me?" she asked shyly.

"Jenny told me all about you," he said, tipping her off his lap. "Half-blood, worked in a pet shop, shy, no boyfriend, lived with your mum. What else is there? I'm getting some wine, do you want some?"

She nodded, addressing her next question to his retreating back. "How is Jenny?"

"She's alive," he said as he left the room.

It took Liz a moment or two to realise that he'd said 'she's alive' and not that she was fine.


	24. Chapter 23

As he poured their drinks, she wracked her brain. She wanted to know what he'd meant by 'she's alive', but he'd already made it clear that he was tired of answering her questions. If she pushed him, he'd almost certainly get angry. She needed him to be relaxed, slightly off-guard before she quizzed him again. As a plan began to form in her mind, she wondered if she had the guts to pull it off. He sauntered back into the room, his expression closed, a glass in each hand and the bottle tucked under his arm.

Looking up at him, she smiled when he held out a glass to her and sat back beside her.

"Thank you, Scabior," she said softly, sipping the drink, as much for courage as anything. He shrugged in response, drinking his own. Liz took a large gulp before turning to him, placing a hand on his stomach. He looked at her, frowning slightly.

"I want to try again," she said, looking down at his crotch brazenly and then back up at his face.

"You what?"

"Last night… I've been thinking about it and I want to try it again. If you don't mind," she added.

His eyes narrowed and locked on hers, daring her to look away. "You want to suck me off again, is that what you're saying?"

Liz flushed but nodded, holding his gaze.

"And I'm to believe that you've been thinking about this? You've spent the day wondering if I'd very kindly allow you to go down on me?"

"No. I just - I want to keep you happy," Liz said quietly.

"Ah. I see," he took another sip of his wine. "So this is some kind of reward? I answered all your questions and this is my prize? Something to keep me sweet?"

Liz tensed, a warning bell ringing inside her head.

"All right," he said, putting the glass down and leaning back. "If you want to, go for it."

For a second Liz was repulsed by his attitude, his careless acceptance of her kneeling down to reward him. But she needed to keep him relaxed and happy, both to find out about her cousin and for her own safety. Obediently, she reached for his fly, unbuttoning his trousers and releasing him. He was only half-erect and she had to use her hands to bring him fully to arousal. He said nothing as she did, watching her silently. She looked up at him before she lowered her mouth over his cock and felt a moment of mild panic when he looked back at her impassively, his arms crossed behind his head. She smiled as best she could and leant forward.

He tasted different today, almost sweeter, and he kept his hands to himself, allowing her to control the depth she took him at. Without his death-grip in her hair, she was able to relax, bringing her own hands up to grip the base of his shaft, to gently touch his balls. He barely made a sound as she pleasured him, just gasping softly and Liz worried that she was doing it wrong, increasing the speed she worked at, swirling her tongue across his skin. She could feel his thighs clenching under her arms, and then he was spent, a soft cry as he spilled into her mouth. The flavour of his seed was still unpleasant, but she swallowed it before looking up at him.

His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands still clenched into fists. She tucked him away, refastening his trousers and climbing back on to the sofa, lifting her wine to rinse her mouth.

He opened his eyes to look at her, smiling nastily. "Go on then," he said huskily.

"What do you mean?"

"Do I look like I was born yesterday? You ask me about your cousin, then five minutes later you're offering blow jobs out like sweets. It ain't Arithmancy, Princess. And you ain't the first bird to use sex to get what she wanted. So ask me."

"I don't-" Liz flushed an ugly red, her skin burning at his words, humiliated to have been so transparent. She took a deep breath before speaking. "What did you mean by 'she's alive'?"

"I meant she's the opposite of dead. She's still breathing. And walking and talking and all that."

"So she's not – she's not hurt, or anything?" Liz was relieved.

Scabior gave her an appraising look before lifting his glass. "Now I didn't say that, did I?"

Liz gripped the wine glass tightly in her hand. "What do you mean?" she whispered.

"Sure you want to know?" Scabior asked and Liz realised he was enjoying himself.

"Just tell me. Please." Liz said.

"You think a blow job was enough?" His eyes were bright, full of mirth, and for a moment the old Liz sparked up inside her. She could see his wand in his holster, tantalising close and her fingers twitched with the urge to snatch it and turn it on him.

And then he moved, twisting to lift the wine bottle, turning away from her. Liz took a deep breath, her hand poised to dart out when he turned back, topping up his glass before looking at her reaching fingers. "Greedy," he grinned. "Like your booze, don't you?" He pushed the bottle into her outstretched hand and she topped up her glass, returning it to him when she was done. He twisted again to replace it on the table and when he turned back to her the ever-present pink scarf covered his wand as if it knew what she'd thought.

"Where were we? Oh yeah. Payment. I told you I used to fence, yeah? Well, see, that makes me good at negotiations. 'Specially when it comes to values of stuff. So, I got sommat you want and you've put down a down payment on that, if you will. But it ain't quite enough. So what else have you got?"

Liz's mouth gaped. "I just want to know how my cousin is. That's all."

"And I told you, she's alive. And walking and talking."

"But then you said she was hurt."

"Ah, but I didn't. I said saying she was alive weren't the same as saying she weren't hurt."

Liz's head was spinning. "Please Scabior. Please. Is she hurt or isn't she?"

His lips curled cruelly as she begged.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice cracking. "I do everything you ask, I know I make mistakes and I'm sorry but I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to be what you want. She's the only family I've got left for all I know. I just want to know if she's all right," she turned away and sipped her drink, trying not to cry.

Scabior rolled his eyes. "Merlin, Princess. Nice job sucking all the fun out of something. I was just messing with you; you don't need to throw a wobbler over it. It's just banter, ain't it," he drained his glass. "Since you can't be arsed to mess around with me, your dumb-fuck cousin got herself knocked up. So now you know."

Liz turned back to him so fast that her neck ached. "What?"

"She got herself pregnant," he shrugged.

A horrifying thought occurred to Liz, every hair on her body standing upright as a chill ran through her. She stared across the room with unseeing eyes. Jenny pregnant. And the only person she knew of that Jenny had slept with the last two months was Scabior. She turned to look at him, taking in his face properly. There was a shadow at his jaw where his beard was already beginning to grow back. The kohl around his eyes was old, she could see where it seeped into the fine lines around his eyes. "Was it you?" she asked, her voice stronger than she felt.

He shrugged again. "I dunno. S'pose it could've been."

Her mouth slackened before the cold gave way to the heat of rage, forgetting how dangerous he was, forgetting momentarily the way his fists had pounded at her. "Do you give a shit either way?" Liz hissed at him.

His eyebrows rose, picking his glass back up and sipping it. "Ought I?" he asked levelly.

"My cousin is pregnant and it might be yours. You might be the father of her child. And you just let me-" Liz gagged suddenly. She knew that they'd been together, and often, but somehow she'd never equated what she did with Scabior as being the same as what he'd done with Jenny. Somehow in her head the acts were different and it was rage at herself for being so naïve, as much as anger with him, that made her stomach roll and her throat constrict.

Scabior slammed the glass down on the table, though miraculously it didn't shatter.

"What, Elizabeth? What did I just let you do? Because you're a bit old to need telling that that won't get you pregnant."

"You were with her… And me… And now she's… Oh God…" the muggle expression fell from her lips and she didn't miss the look of disgust on his face when it did.

"All right, Princess, let's get some facts out there. Firstly, your cousin is a slag, a truth I don't reckon you've missed, so she was always going to meet a sticky end. In fact, not only did she fuck me in camp, but she also had a go with Rowley and she's spent the last three weeks with Greyback. So it'd be odds on, would't it? Secondly, it's very fucking unlikely it was my kid, seeing as I've just come out of Azkaban after eight fucking years inside. I don't reckon the chances of my still having lead in my pencil are that high, do you? That place does stuff to you, so fuck knows what it's done to my balls. And if that weren't enough for you, I take a fucking potion once a month because I, apparently like you, don't think I'm father material either," he paused to draw a breath, grabbing the wine and unscrewing the lid before drinking straight from the bottle.

Liz closed her eyes, trying to think, her mind flitting from sentence to sentence, trying to make sense of it. Suddenly her eyes flew open, fixed on him. "'She got herself pregnant. It was my kid'. Past tense… Scabior… what did you do?"

He finished the bottle, dropping it on the floor as he stood. "I didn't do nothing," he said. Liz opened her mouth to speak when he cut her off. "I didn't have to. She's been living with a werewolf for the past two weeks. Werewolves bite. And the transformation can be a bitch."

He watched to make sure his words had sunk in before he left the room.


	25. Chapter 24

He'd expected her to follow him, and he waited in the kitchen for her, the fingers of his right hand twitching expectantly. He'd been surprised by her outburst, having convinced himself he'd quashed her impulse to argue with him. But it seemed he'd been wrong and if he was honest, that pleased him. He'd wait for her to speak, to rail at him and he'd slap her, just once, as a reminder not to defy him.

He waited for two, then five and then ten minutes, his agitation growing when she didn't burst in to level accusations at him. Gritting his teeth, he strode back into the living room. She was still sitting where he'd left her, staring at the spot where Rowley had died, her face a mask of despair. She didn't look up when he glowered at her, nor when he moved towards her. He stood in her eye line, his stance commanding her to look at him but she didn't, continuing the same blank stare as though she couldn't see him. He dropped to his knees so his face was level with hers and finally she blinked, meeting his eyes.

"She asked for it," he baited her, confused by her behaviour.

To his surprise, Liz nodded slowly. "I know," she said, her voice calm and even. "I worried about her, you know. All the time. Sometimes I didn't like her very much, but she was still my cousin. We were like sisters, when we were little."

Scabior watched her warily. It was rare a person could wrong-foot him, rare he couldn't predict what they'd do next, but Elizabeth was puzzling him and he didn't like it. He kept his eyes on her, his fingers subconsciously inching towards his wand.

"She'll have to register as a half-breed," she continued. "Her mother won't want to see her now. It's a shame she wasn't very good at potions. She'll have to buy Wolfsbane from somewhere."

Relief flooded Scabior. She was in shock. That was all. She wasn't a threat, hadn't decided to rebel against him. He stood, moving to sit beside her, pressing his thigh against hers. The action seemed to rouse her and she turned to look at him through glassy eyes.

"How did it happen?"

He swallowed, feeling almost nervous. "You sure you want to know?"

When she nodded, he took a breath and started speaking. "She was with Greyback. He did it on purpose, he says. He don't need the moon no more, not to turn. He can't go all the way without it, but as near as damn it. And he turned and he bit her. He didn't know if it'd take, without him being fully wolf. He scratched one of the Weasley kids last summer, but that didn't turn 'im. So he tried a bite, made himself over as good as he could and bit her. And then at the full moon last week, she turned. And… Well, you know. "

"He looked more like a wolf than a man," Liz mused calmly. "I thought he preferred children. They say he got children and took them away. They say he was making an army of werewolves."

Scabior nodded. "He does prefer kids, as a rule. I couldn't tell you why he bit her. Maybe thought he could breed an army with her."

"Breed an army? Jenny didn't want children. She said they'd ruin her waistline."

"Least of her concerns now," Scabior said, rising. He went to the kitchen and took out a bottle of Firewhiskey, collecting two glasses and returning to her. He couldn't understand why, but he didn't like her like this, didn't like her being so reasonable and distant. This wasn't his Elizabeth. His Elizabeth was sweet and soft and scared, not rational and accepting. He poured her a glass and handed it to her, before pouring his own.

"Can I see her?" she asked. "I'd like to see her, if you'll allow it."

Scabior stared at her. "Drink your whiskey," he said, frowning when she raised the glass to her lips and drank slowly. He waited for her to ask again, but she didn't, cupping the glass in her palms.

"What d'you want to see 'er for?"

"To say sorry. This is my fault, you know. She wanted to leave because of me."

It had been Scabior's plan to turn the blame on her if she'd challenged him over it. Hit her and then tell her it was her fault, just like before. For her to accept it without his prompting sent him further into panic at her behaviour. `

"What makes you say that?"

"She saw us, on Christmas morning. She asked me not to sleep with you at Christmas and I promised I wouldn't. But she saw us. I drove her into his path. She told me she loved you and I didn't care. I'm as bad as you," her smile was wretched as she looked at him.

"We didn't sleep together though, did we. We didn't go all the way."

"I was naked under you. And you said I'd lied to her about it. What was she supposed to think?" She raised the glass to her lips again, before she laughed. The sound was hollow and Scabior felt a shiver down his spine. "I don't understand it," she continued. "I've been over and over it all. I had a job, I lived here and then there was you. And then pain and Rowley dead and now Jenny's a werewolf and I keep wondering when it ends. It's only been two months. Who would have thought so much could change in two months?" She finished the glass and looked at him. "When does it end, Scabior? Because I'm trying so hard to be patient and strong but I don't think I can take very much more. If you're going to kill me, please could you do it tonight? I don't mind, honestly. I'll have some more whiskey and go to sleep and you could do it then. I'll never even know."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he whispered in horror. "I'm not gonna kill you. What the fuck makes you think I'm gonna kill you?"

"How else does it end, then?"

He took her by the shoulders, shaking her. "This stops, Elizabeth. Right now. You pack it in, hear me?"

She shook her head. "My mum used to like this band, this muggle band. Their singer died. I was at school, I didn't know. I came home for Christmas and my mum was playing his songs, over and over and I asked her why. She said he'd died the month before. One Sunday, she'd been cooking her dinner and they'd said on the radio he'd died. He had this horrible disease, a muggle one, but no-one knew. He kept it quiet because if people had known he'd got it-" she stopped, shuddering in his grip before continuing. "They'd have shunned him. No-one knew much about it, but it was bad. They said bad things about the people that got it. Like lycanthropy, that's what they call it, don't they? Being a werewolf. It's like that muggle disease. You can't get a job with it, can't get married, or have a family. No one will want you, in case you pass it on."

Scabior stared at her, shaking her again, "Elizabeth, Lizzy, please. Have some more whiskey," he released her to pour her another glass, shoving it into her hands. She drank it all down before looking at him.

"She just wanted to get married, you know. To someone rich. When we were little, we both wanted to work in Eeylops. No-one will marry her now. She'll be an outcast."

He didn't know what to say, for the first time he could remember he didn't have a response, a quip or retort ready on his tongue. Of all the outcomes he'd expected when he told her, and he had been saving it up for her, he would never have predicted this. This was a new layer to his Elizabeth and he didn't like it.

"Snap out of it," he said harshly, pushing his thigh against hers. "It's too late now."

She nodded. "Oh, I know. It was too late the moment you found our tent, I see that now. It doesn't matter what I do anymore. This was always going to happen. I just want to know how it ends. How does it end, Scabior?"

He watched her for a moment before reaching a decision. Slowly, he drew his wand and pointed it at her, appalled by her calm acceptance of it. She smiled softly and closed her eyes.

"Obliviate," he murmured.


	26. Chapter 25

He stripped it away, the entire evening removed from her mind. After a moments consideration, he took it back further, taking out every memory between her falling asleep on New Year's and the present. Rowley, the beating, the kitten, that evening all gone, wiped away as if they hadn't occurred. When he was finished, he flicked his wand again, Stunning her.

He carried her limp form up the stairs, tenderly stripping her of her dress and underwear. He lay her on the bed, before fetching another of her mother's nightgowns and pulling it over her head, bending her flaccid arms into it. He liked the way she looked in the old fashioned garments, like a Victorian girl. There was something deeply erotic about the modesty of the gown, the lace across her chest. He lifted her again and threw back the covers before placing her in the bed. He drew the quilt up over her, spent a moment fanning her hair around her head, placing her hands on her stomach. There. She looked as if she was sleeping.

Had anyone asked, he wouldn't have been able to explain why he'd just done what he'd done. He didn't understand why he'd felt compelled to undo almost all of his good work in teaching her to fear him, why he'd taken away the memories of the last week. All he knew was that he hadn't liked the Elizabeth he'd just spoken to, had known that no amount of beating would have broken through the melancholy she'd been under. He could have beaten her within an inch of her life and she'd have offered no resistance. And that wasn't what he wanted.

So he'd taken it all away. When he awoke her, the last thing she'd recall would be falling asleep in his arms after their outing to Westminster. She'd believe their last conversation was them reaching an agreement of sorts about how things were going to go. She didn't need to know about Jenny, or Rowley. He could always slap her about again if she asked for it. But even he had to admit that during the last week, things had gotten out of hand. If he'd had a TimeTurner, he would have stopped himself killing Rowley, the boy was good at his job and although the share of the gold was bigger with him gone, Davey and Ratter weren't a patch on him when tracking. Still, it was too late now for regrets, Rowley's body was a stick in Elizabeth's garden, and the girl herself was now unaware of any of it. He'd start again, taming her slowly. The plan could still go ahead, he'd still get the house and its live-in housekeeper. He'd just have to do a better job of keeping her under control, keeping her isolated.

Satisfied, he stood, stripping off and climbing in beside her. He lay on his side, watching her in the dim light. She was a pretty girl, when all was said and done. Not his usual type, if he had such a thing, but he wouldn't be ashamed to be seen with her on his arm, even if she was a half-blood. They could gloss over that anyway, Fawley was a Pureblood name, once he'd got rid of the mother no-one would need to know. She'd understand, under the new regime, that it would be safer to deny she was half-muggle. Now he was starting over, he'd make sure she understood everything. He'd got rid of all the other obstacles. And what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Time for new tactics though. She responded when he was nice to her, so perhaps he could kill her with kindness, as it were. Perhaps instead of teaching her to fear him, he needed to teach her to love him. People did anything you asked when they loved you, look at Batshit Bella. It was the worst kept secret in the wizarding world that she was gaga for The Dark Lord. It might be worth him trying that with her. Yes, he mused, closing his eyes and pulling her roughly against him. He'd try that. And if that didn't work, he'd start again. He'd get it right, in the end.

She woke on her own a few hours later, without him needing to rouse her from the spell. It was dark in the room, she could feel tight arms around her and breath on her forehead. She felt groggy and confused, blinking slowly. New Year's Eve… the church… then… she flushed slightly as she remembered what they'd done when they arrived back. That had been surprisingly pleasant.

Not wanting to disturb him, she tried to move slowly, but he was awake instantly, sitting up, flicking his wand at the candles on the dresser.

"You're awake then?" he asked, scrutinising her face. "How're you feeling?"

"Erm… Fine?" she said.

His face softened. "You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?"

He looked at her with concern. "Princess, love, you've been ill. Really ill. I thought I was going to lose you."

"What?" she sat up, looking down at him, then down at herself. "What am I wearing? What do you mean I've been ill? How long have I been ill?"

"A week, almost. I've been taking care of you."

Taking care… there was something familiar about the phrase and she stared at him. "A week? What was wrong with me?"

"Some fever or sommat. I woke up a few hours after we went to bed, on New Year's and you were red hot, burning up in my arms. I put you in the bath with cold water and cooled you down. You've been mostly asleep since. I gave you water and that, and helped you to the loo."

"You helped me to the toilet?" Liz burned red. "Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be daft, Princess. I didn't mind. I was just worried about you."

"Oh," she said softly, looking at him. He did look concerned, his eyes hadn't left hers at all while they'd been speaking.

"Are you hungry?" he sat up. "You must be. I tried giving you soup," he embellished, "but you wouldn't have it."

She thought for a moment and shook her head. "No, I'm not hungry, not at all. I feel a bit full, if anything." She ran her tongue over her teeth and frowned. "Did you give me whiskey?"

"A bit, yeah, in some water. My Mum used to say it was medicinal."

"A week…" Liz mused. She tried to recall her last memory, his body against hers, a pink scarf then nothing. "Have I been unconscious for a week?"

Scabior thought rapidly. "Nah, but you weren't exactly with it. Asked for your mum, Jenny," he paused. "You asked for me a few times too."

Liz flushed prettily. "Did I? Sorry."

"Don't be," he smiled. "I didn't mind."

"Have you been here all the time?" she asked and he nodded. "But your work? Potter?"

"Didn't matter. Potter's still out there. I'll get 'im. They were a bit stuck though, Rowley quit on them," he improvised.

"Did he? Because of his girlfriend?"

"Erm, yeah. Yeah, I think so. To be honest, it ain't been my biggest concern," he looked at her deliberately and she ducked her head.

"I didn't mean to put you out. Do you know what it was?"

"Not a clue. I ain't much of a Healer. Probably just some bug. I should've taken you up Mungo's really. In fact, if you weren't any better by the morning I was going to."

"It's fine," Liz said. "I feel fine now, I think. Bit woozy." She moved her arms and legs, feeling none of the weakness she usually felt after a bout of sickness. "I feel fine, but-" she stopped, straining to listen. Behind her parent's door, the kitten mewled painfully, scratching at the door. "What's that?"

"That… that was your get well present," Scabior said quickly. "I know you miss your work, and I realised after New Year's that you might get lonely when I'm gone, so I thought I'd get you a little friend for when you got better. Wait there," he said, jumping out of the bed. He returned a moment later with the kitten in his hands, passing it to her.

She felt a thrill of familiarity as it curled up in her hands, and she smiled delightedly at Scabior. "Does he have a name?"

"Nope. Thought you might want to pick one."

Liz thought for a moment before announcing "Riley. I think he should be called Riley."

Scabior lost his composure for a split second before nodding. "Yeah. That's nice. Little Riley. Will I get you some tea or something?"

Liz nodded and he bent to retrieve his trousers. "Thank you," she said softly as he turned to the door. "Thank you so much. I don't know how to repay you."

"No bother," he smiled, winking at her before heading down the stairs.

She stroked the kitten absently, soothed by his rumbling purrs. She couldn't remember anything from the last week. Had he really been with her, taking care of her? She flexed her legs again. He must have, she felt fine in her body. Her head felt strange, but then she supposed a week of near oblivion would do that to you. She smiled at him when he perched on the bed next to her, holding out a steaming cup. "Thank you," she said, taking it and inhaling the steam. "You won't be in trouble for not working? Have you lost much money?"

"Maybe a hundred Galleons," he lied. "And I'm me own boss. There'll be no bother."

"I can give you the money," she said and he looked at her with feigned outrage.

"Don't be daft, Princess. I stayed because… because I wanted to," he looked away as if embarrassed by the admission and Liz's heart softened. So he'd meant it then, when he'd said he try. It hadn't been just words.

"Have the others been here?" she asked, sipping her tea.

"Nah, thought it was best to keep them away. Plus, you know, it's your home. You should get a say on if they stay. If I stay…" he left it dangling in the air.

Liz put the cup down on the windowsill. Gently, she lifted the kitten from her lap and leant over Scabior, placing him on the floor where he curled up and fell asleep. She turned to Scabior, who was watching her keenly and she took his face in her hands. "I want you to stay," she said quietly. "I don't what would have happened to me if you hadn't been here. You saved me."

He nodded solemnly at her.

"I'll be good from now on," she said, pressing her lips against his.


	27. Chapter 26

His mother had always said 'you catch more flies with honey, than with vinegar' and he was learning just how true that was. This new, modified Elizabeth was much easier to work with than the old one. It appeared that one seemingly altruistic act on his part had wiped out any reservations she had held about him, and her situation. She stopped asking about her wand, stopped asking about her cousin, devoting herself to him, responding to his every whim with alacrity.

She'd kissed him that night, slowly and deeply and he'd allowed her to lie him down, to pleasure him as thoroughly as she could with her hands, barely protesting that she wasn't to strain herself after her illness. Afterwards, she'd nestled against him, stroking his chest and planting soft kisses on it before falling asleep.

He'd offered to stay with her the next day, but she'd shaken her head and told him he'd lost enough work because of her. When he'd returned, he was shocked to see she'd dressed in the same dress she'd worn the night he'd altered her memory, and scarily, had chosen to roast a chicken. He'd watched her carefully for signs that she remembered, that the spell hadn't worked, but aside from those two odd coincidences, and an aversion to the living room, there was nothing.

"Scabior, when I was ill… Did you… did you shave my legs?" she asked, unable to look at him as she put her knife and fork down.

Already shaken, he'd been about to deny it when he remembered she'd supposedly been asleep for a week. He'd remembered to vanish the contents of the bin, and to clean up the living room, but there were details he'd forgotten. "Erm, yeah, sort of," he said. "I used my wand though. I ain't done it before so sorry if it was a bit…"

"No, no!" she protested, smiling at him. "I just wondered while I was in the shower, that's all. They didn't look as though they'd been left alone for a week. Or anywhere else. So thank you. Again."

He shrugged. "No worries. I didn't know if it would itch, when it grew back. Beards do," he qualified.

She smiled at him and he smiled back, though he couldn't finish his meal after that.

Weeks passed and she showed no sign of an anxiety or recall and he slowly began to relax and to return to his former ways. He worked, catching whoever he could and selling them on, seeking out information on Potter, determined to find him while Liz kept the house and attended to him. Her gratitude began to grate on him, though, and he found himself snapping at her when she reached for him, pushing her hands away. After work he began to solicit other women in The Hog's Head, taking them roughly in the toilets or the alleyway behind the pub, the transactions vaguely dissatisfying to him.

He still hadn't bedded her properly, had planned to save it until Valentine's Day, to seduce her completely but the novelty of the idea was waning, the anticipation thawing into apathy. She was too willing now, reminding him uncomfortably of her cousin. She'd press against him at night, making it clear she would give herself to him and though he'd predicted she would, the actuality was not the thrill he'd hoped for and so he kept putting her off, using his hands and mouth to calm her, accepting her pleasuring of him when the women he met didn't slake his appetite. Her adoration of him was almost slavish, and he found he missed the brief sparks of fire and rebellion.

"I'm going out," he announced one night after dinner, dropping his fork to the table with a clang.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, her mouth open for a second to protest before she closed it, her eyes dropping to the table.

"Problem?" he asked. She shook her head, keeping her eyes down and he felt a muscle in his jaw tic. "Doubt I'll be back tonight," he continued nonchalantly. "Don't bother waiting up."

His eyes narrowed as she nodded and he pushed the chair back from the table. He watched her for a moment, before crossing to her and lifting her by the arm. "Do I get a goodbye kiss?" he asked, but gave her no chance to respond.

He savaged her mouth with his, his fingers raking her roughly, pushing her until her back was pressed against the counter. His hands scrabbled at her breasts, squeezing them, swallowing her gasp of pain. To his surprise though, she responded with force, her teeth clashing against his, and he tasted blood on her tongue when it danced against his. He considered pulling away, leaving her wanting, but she'd begun to grind against him, and his cock leapt to attention. Silly really, to turn it down when it was offered so freely. And perhaps it would be what he needed, to push into her tight, wet folds, to stake his claim on her finally.

Liz didn't know what she'd done wrong, but she wasn't about to let him leave her alone again. Her own fingers tugged at his belt, opening it and undoing the buttons on his fly, She yanked at the fabric, pushing it away so she could touch him. Over the last few weeks, she'd sensed his interest waning, he'd stayed away later and later, often returning with teeth marks on his throat, the smell of whiskey and perfume in a cloud around his hair and she'd felt cold, hard fear that he was going to leave her. She didn't know what she'd done wrong, she'd kept the house spotless, cooked him meal after meal and opened herself to him willingly when they went to bed. And yet it didn't seem to please him, he barely responded when she touched him and he'd all but abandoned any attempt to seduce her.

And so now as he touched her, she wasn't going to let the opportunity go. If he left, she had nothing and no-one, he'd said it often enough before. She pulled at him roughly, opening her legs and pressing against him, grinding her pelvis against his and he growled into her mouth, his hands moving to push up her skirt. He lifted her onto the counter and she had a sudden, unwelcome flashback of him between Jenny's legs. She pushed it away, concentrating on kissing him, biting at his neck, leaving her own teeth marks to replace the unknown ones. Fear coursed through her, afraid she wasn't ready, afraid it would hurt, but at the same time her abdomen ached with desire for him, the need to keep him with her.

He pulled away for a moment, looking at her strangely, his breath coming in pants. She watched him, before nodding slowly.

"What?" he asked, his voice low.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come and she nodded again.

"Say it," he commanded.

"I want you," she said softly, her cheeks flushed with want and embarrassment.

His fingers stroked her and she moaned, pressing herself against his hand. "Say it again," he murmured against her ear.

"Scabior, please. I – please."

He smiled slowly before lifting her. At first, she thought he was going to carry her to their room, but he kicked open the living room door and she whimpered. He carried her across the room, placing her on the floor at the foot of the sofa, pulling a cushion down for behind her head.

She wanted to protest, to tell him not here, but he'd already pushed his trousers off, ripped off his shirt and she was afraid if she stopped him, he'd leave her there. He tugged her dress over her head, removing her bra and her panties and then he was pushing her legs open, resting between them. Her eyes travelled over his body, the lean hard muscles of him, the pale glow of his skin in the dim light from the kitchen. His hair fell around his face like a halo and he looked down at her for a moment, his eyes dark, one hand raised to push her own hair from her face. She felt him at her entrance, the hardness of him and she swallowed, before tilting her hips slightly to take him. Slowly, he pushed into her, a low moan falling from his lips as his cock filled her and then there was a brief pain, a sharp splintering inside her and she whimpered again, raising one hand to his chest, splayed over his heart. He continued to push into her until she felt as though she might split, the muscles tightening to reject him, to force him out. For a moment, she thought she had as he withdrew but then he pushed into her again.

Slowly, he moved his hips back and forth, moving in and out of her, his eyes not leaving hers and she relaxed into the motions, becoming used to the ebb and flow of their coupling. He still felt too big, but it was bearable now, her body relaxing around him and as it did he moved faster. He lowered his weight onto his arms and pumped in and out of her, the pace increasing and she found she was gasping and moaning with him, moving her hips to meet his. He didn't kiss her, his face buried in her shoulder as he moved, pausing for a moment to lift her legs higher, pulling them around his waist. She locked them there, rocking against him, the feeling of fullness moving from uncomfortable to fulfilling.

It seemed to take forever for him to finish, Liz lay under him, moving against him, with him. Her fingers tugged at his hair, ran down his spine as they moved, her own breath coming in pants and gasps, the floor hard beneath her, her head reeling from the strange sensation of being joined with him. Sweat beaded on his chest as he moved, sticking them together, skin sliding against skin and she found herself moaning each time he filled her, arching against him, her body moving as though it didn't belong to her. As he sped up he began to hit a barrier insider her, sharp pain lancing through her, but he either ignored her gasps, or mistook them for pleasure and he didn't slow down. Finally, he came in one long, deep thrust, spilling into her and collapsing, panting onto her chest. She felt removed from it all, as if it were happening to someone else, her hands rising to stroke his hair, already missing the warmth of his skin moving against hers.

As he withdrew from her, a new ache settled in her, cramp low in her belly and she moved her hands to cover herself, feeling oddly vulnerable. She wished he'd hold her, but he rolled away onto his back, his glazed eyes staring at the ceiling as his breathing slowed. Finally he turned to her and smiled, and she blushed.

"You all right?" he asked and she nodded. "Good," he said, sitting up and pulling his clothes back towards him. She watched, bewildered as he redressed.

"Change of plans," he said and for a moment her heart soared happily. "I will be back later."

She could only watch as he turned and left the room, left her lying on the floor, unbeknownst to her in the spot where Rowley had died. As the front door slammed shut she began to cry.


	28. Chapter 27

She lay on the floor, feeling hollow, the slam of the door behind him echoing in her mind over and over. Her body ached in ways she had not known it could, soreness between her legs, a low, throbbing ache in her belly, bruises forming on her back where she'd been pressed into the floor. Her face was wet with tears, dripping down onto the wood as she turned to reach for her dress. She pulled it on, sitting up tentatively.

The room looked the same as it had the last time they'd been in there on New Year's Eve, though she didn't like it in there anymore. It felt cold and wrong to her for some reason, and she couldn't look at the floor, couldn't look at the place where they'd…

As she stood, she felt something seep down her leg and she reached to wipe it away. His seed, she realised, with traces of blood from her invaded body. She picked up her panties and used them to wipe the fluid away, walking slowly to the kitchen. She felt like an old woman, her body didn't feel like her own, each step was slow, unsteady. She looked at the remains of their dinner, the place where he'd lifted her onto the counter, the place where she'd asked him to sleep with her and she felt bile rise in her throat.

She climbed the stairs and ran the shower, moving automatically to shed her dress, stepping under the water and turning the temperature up until it burned her. Still, she shook, cold inside her bones. He'd left her. He'd left her lying naked on the floor after taking her virginity. No kisses, no soft words or glances, no being cradled in his arms. He'd screwed her and left her as though she was nothing. The water soothed some of the ache away and she washed herself thoroughly, trying not to think of what they'd just done, unable to think of anything else.

It had not been what she'd expected. Of course, her experience up until then was limited, only his fingers and tongue had ever claimed her before. She'd known a little from Jenny, expected a little pain. She hadn't expected her body to respond as it had, hadn't expected her hips to move of their own accord, to seek him out. She'd wanted him, she knew that. He hadn't taken anything from her she hadn't asked him to. She hadn't come, though she hadn't expected that either. She had expected him to be gentle with her afterwards though. To at least stay.

She stayed under the water until it began to run cold, before wrapping herself in the largest towel she had. The house was quiet around her, she knew she ought to go and clean up, but she couldn't bring herself to. Instead she dressed in large, flannel pyjamas and crawled into bed, her wet hair tangling around her.

He woke her when he came back; she heard the front door close and his movements through the house. She stiffened at his tread on the stairs, holding her breath as he opened the door to her – their – room. She smelt him before she saw him, the reek of alcohol filling her room.

"You awake?" he asked, sitting on the bed next to her.

She paused for a moment before nodding.

"You all right?"

She nodded again, flinching as he thrust something into her face. Her hands broke free from the covers and she felt something cold and soft before the room flooded with light. She watched him put his wand back into its holster before she looked at what he'd given her.

Flowers. A bedraggled selection of flowers, wrapped in cellophane. She looked down at them and then back up at him.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because of… you know. Earlier. Us. I figured you might be ready for company now."

"What?"

"Well, earlier you seemed like you needed some time. And I had to go out anyway so I thought I'd leave you to it."

Liz stared at him. "You thought I needed time? To what?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Process it or sommat."

"I didn't need time."

"Right. Well, you should have said sommat then. I could have cancelled my thing. Do you want me to get some water for them?" he nodded at the flowers.

Liz glanced back at the flowers. They were cheap, carnations and a few roses that were clearly on their last legs. She knew he hadn't paid for them. "Whatever," she said and lay back down, turning her back on him.

Through the fug of whiskey, Scabior felt a thrill at her behaviour. This was more like it. This was interesting. He kicked off his boots and pulled his jacket off, curling against her.

"Don't be like that, Princess," he slurred her nickname slightly. "I was trying to do the right thing. I thought you might want to be alone with your thoughts."

"You left me on the floor," she replied quietly. "Naked on the floor."

"Well, I'm here now," he cooed, pulling her around to face him. "What do you want me to do?"

"Brush your teeth," Liz said without thinking, feeling a spark of satisfaction as he jerked away as if she'd hit him.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes darkening. There was a moment when she thought he might hit her, but instead he sat up. "Get those ugly things off," he said. "I'll be back."

She wondered what he meant by the threat, watching him leave the room. She didn't want to be naked with him again, not then, but neither did she want him to hurt her. She scrabbled under the covers to remove them, pulling the quilt around her. Moments later he returned, and in the candle light she could see he'd shed his clothes too. He closed the door and stalked to the bed, looking for all the world like a predator. He pulled the covers back sharply, exposing her as he slid in next to her, winding himself around her.

His hand went straight between her legs and she grabbed at it, trying to pull him away.

"Don't," she said and he tutted.

"Bit late to be precious about it now, ain't it?" he said, though he moved his hand. "Are you seriously pissed off with me?"

"You just left me," she said softly. "You knew it was my first time, and you just left me there."

"I thought I was doing you a favour. And I told you I had to go out. You were the one who wanted to do it."

Liz's jaw dropped. "Not like that," she hissed. "Not on the floor, after dinner, and then you leaving. I wanted…"

"What? What did you want?"

"More," she said finally. "I wanted more."

"You wanted it to be special?" he asked, his voice mocking and she shoved him away.

"Yes. I wanted 'special'," she spat. "I thought we…"

"What?"

"Doesn't matter."

"For fuck's sake… Elizabeth, don't fuck about. What did you think?" he rolled onto his back and pressed his hand to his forehead.

She stayed silent and he turned to look at the back of her head. Sighing, he rolled onto his side and reached out a hand, stroking her shoulder.

"Look, maybe I shouldn't have gone, yeah? Fine, I get it. I've been under a lot of stress lately, things have been shit at work," he lied. "All this Potter crap. I know I haven't been around much. And for what it's worth, it's not how I planned for it either."

Liz stiffened, recognising the lie for what it was. Potter wasn't the reason he came home late with lipstick on his mouth. Potter wasn't the reason he'd lost interest in her. For the first week after she'd been ill, he'd been nothing but caring. But the last few had seen him distance himself from her, staying away, treating her almost like a house elf.

Scabior shifted slightly, pressing his mouth against the top of her spine. "I'm here now," he said softly.

"I want my wand," she said quietly and he moved away.

"Princess…"

"Don't, Scabior," she turned to face him. "This is my home. I'm not going to run away. I'm not going to curse you. We – we slept together. I told you I wanted you to stay. What more do you want?"

Scabior stared at her before he looked away. He mumbled something and she frowned, unsure whether he'd said what she thought she'd heard.

"Pardon?" she asked and he looked her in the eye.

"I want you to love me," he repeated.

"I don't understand…" she swallowed.

"I ain't done this before," his voice trembled slightly. "You've got under my skin. It scares me," he added and despite her anger at him, her outrage at what he'd done to her since they'd met, she felt the tug in her stomach that only he was able to draw from her.

"Love you?" she repeated. "Why?"

"I've been drawn to you since the start," he said quietly. "You know that. All those times you caught me looking at you. There's something about you, Princess. And it scares the fuck out of me. I've tried staying away, but I can't." There was a ring of truth to his words, he made sure of that, keeping the story as straight as he could. He watched her closely, waiting for her to give in.

Liz could feel herself softening at his words. She didn't want to; she wanted to remain angry with him, angry that he'd left her, angry he'd been so careless, so cavalier. But it was who he was, she knew that. He was cruel, and thoughtless, most of the time. And yet, hadn't he taken care of her when she needed him to? He'd cared for her, kept her fed and brought her home.

"I know I've not been great, in fact, I've been a bastard at times," he continued smoothly. "I've lied to you and I've stolen from you and I've hurt you. But I want to change. I do. All I need to do is get Potter. Once I've got the money from that, I can quit Snatching. Me and you will be set. I need you. And I need you to trust me, just for a bit longer," he added and lowered his gaze, holding his breath.

He felt her hand on his face and bit back a smile. Feigning shyness, he looked up at her, keeping his own eyes wide. When she leant forward and kissed his forehead, he knew he'd won.

Their second time was what Liz had wanted. He was attentive to her, stroking and caressing her until she almost came under his hand before he took her. It still hurt, still ached, but it was sweeter this time, tempered by his lips on hers, his fingers stroking her breasts, his mouth murmuring her name into her ear as he moved in her. Her hands twisted in his hair as she came, his name on her lips and then he finished inside her. Afterwards he held her, stroking her damp hair, her head on his chest listening to his heart as it calmed.

He felt her relax in his arms, fall asleep, her breathing becoming deeper and he relaxed. Though he wanted her to have some fire, he didn't want her to rebel entirely. He'd been careless of late with the other girls, but he surmised that was her fault anyway. If she'd put out a bit earlier, he might not have had to get it somewhere else. If she'd stopped with the Greta Catchlove routine and started attending to his other needs properly, he wouldn't have had to look elsewhere. Still, that would be different now. Screwing her on the floor earlier had been fun, after all. She'd been so tight, just thinking about it made him want her again. He could train her to respond to his every whim, teach her how to please him fully. He closed his eyes thinking about it all. House, little woman running it, money.

Soon.


	29. Chapter 28

Despite her assurances she wouldn't leave, he refused to give her her wand and she decided to stop asking for the time being. After the night he told her he wanted her to love him, he'd been better again, coming home at a decent hour, no marks or scents on him. They made love with almost alarming frequency, in the morning before he left, within moments of him arriving back at the house she'd be under him, his mouth on hers. He'd follow her around the house, sliding a hand under her skirt, or pulling her onto his lap. He forbade her from wearing underwear, telling her there was no point and he'd destroy it if she did. She did everything he wanted, allowing him to manipulate her body as he wished. His favourite thing to do seemed to be to bend her over the table, gripping her hair at the base of her skull as he took her. She was more than surprised to learn that she liked this too.

There was something addicting about his need for her, and she learned not to mind when he woke her in the night, pulling her to him. She made up for it in the day, napping when she could, Riley the kitten curling up with her. The cooking of elaborate meals stopped, a thin layer of dust formed on the shelves as February passed into March and all of Liz's attention was eaten by Scabior's needs.

That morning, he'd pulled her onto him, gripping her hips as she rode him, all self-consciousness gone from her now. His hips had bucked beneath her as she slammed down onto him, and she'd looked down at him, watching his face contort as he came inside her. He'd pulled her to him afterwards, kissing her roughly before rising and heading out. When Liz had gone to shower, she noticed bruises on her body, finger-prints on her hips and arms where he'd gripped her. She placed her own hands over the marks with vague interest before showering. Their love-making had shorn pounds from her body, her hipbones and ribs jutting out. There were shadows under her eyes from the lack of sleep, her skin was almost translucent under the bathroom light, but she didn't care. She made her way dreamily down the stairs and fed the cat, giving the kitchen a cursory clean before heading back up the stairs. Glancing at the clock, she smiled. He'd be back in six hours. She snuggled into sheets that smelt of him, and her, and closed her eyes.

When she awoke, it was dark, and for a second she was confused. The clock told her it was gone seven, he should have been back by now. Fear tightened her stomach and she rose quickly, throwing on a dress. It had been a long time since he'd stayed away after work, and dread gripped her as she imagined him with another woman, his lips on her instead of Liz. She made it to the bottom of the stairs when the door flew open and Scabior fell through it.

For a moment, Liz didn't understand what she was seeing. There was something on his left arm, something red and violent and he didn't move, lying face down on the hallway floor. Then the redness began to spread beneath his arm and she stifled a scream. Rushing to his side, she turned him onto his back, relieved when he moaned and his eyes fluttered open.

"Dittany," he gasped and she obeyed, running up the stairs and ransacking the bathroom cabinet. She could have sworn there was a whole bottle there, but could find nothing. Panicking now, she raced back to him, recoiling as she saw his neck. Around his throat, covering the tattoo he hated, was a line of deep purple bruising, the skin chafed and ripped.

"What happened?" she asked, crouching at his side, his fingers reaching towards the skin.

"Where's the Dittany?" he choked, coughing violently and she recoiled again as blood reddened his lips.

"There is none. I don't know!" she said, and then he nodded slowly, as if he'd expected as much. "I did have some, I'm sure of it."

"Don't matter, help me up," he asked and she did, placing one arm under him and trying to lift him. He was heavy, the dead weight of the almost unconscious and she stumbled as she dragged him towards the living room. He collapsed onto the sofa, his breathing shallow.

"Tell me what to do?" she begged as his eyes fluttered shut again. "What happened?"

"Potter," he stuttered, his breathing laboured. "Need to bind my arm."

She nodded, kneeling in front of him and trying to peel away his jacket and shirt sleeve, almost crying when he screamed in pain. The wound was deep, the meat of his arm visible beneath the blood which kept pumping out of the wound.

"You need to go to Mungo's," she said and he shook his head, gasping again at the pain.

"I just need to bind it. Get me sommat. Quick."

She ran to the kitchen, collecting towels and cloths, packing them as gently as she could into the wound. His face was white, bloodless and his breathing hitched and Liz sobbed with fear.

"Scabior… Please… You need Dittany. You're bleeding too much. I need my wand."

"No," he said with surprising force.

"Scabior, please! I'll go to the apothecary. I'll come straight back, I promise. You're dying!"

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I don't have your wand."

For a moment she almost asked why, and then he shuddered violently. "Your wand then. Please. I'll be back. I promise… I love you."

He gazed at her for a moment before his head nodded to his side and she saw his wand holster. She reached for it, waiting for him to stop her. When she didn't, terror coursed through her, almost bringing her to her knees. If he would allow her to take his wand, then he must really be…

She pulled herself together, leaning forward and kissing his head. "I'll be back," she promised. "Just hold on."

She was afraid the wards would hold, despite her having his wand, but they didn't and for the first time in months she walked out of her own front door. The world felt too big, too open and horror bit at her again before she pictured him lying dying in her living room. Taking a deep breath, she thought of Diagon Alley and twisted.

She'd had to bang the door with all her might, pleading with the shopkeeper to open up. Her face was awash with tears as she'd begged for the potion, for something for the pain, for a blood-replenishing draught. She hadn't brought any money, but her panic, her blood-stained clothes were enough to convince the man to let her take the goods. She promised she'd come back with the money and he'd let her go.

Back at the house, Scabior had lapsed into unconsciousness, which both terrified Liz and made it easier to treat him. She didn't know what she was doing, but she'd sometimes administered medicine to the animals in Eeylops, so she tried to think of him as one of them, trying not to look at his waxy face as she treated him. She pulled the towels away from the wound, sickened as the blood began to flow freely again. But the Dittany stemmed the flow, and she watched as a thin layer of flesh began to knit over the wound. She dabbed the potion onto a towel and onto his neck, relieved as the violent bruising began to fade. When he stirred, she tilted his head back and poured as much of the blood-replenishing potion as she dared into his mouth, cradling him as he swallowed it.

Then she waited, sitting at his feet, unable to take her eyes from her, afraid each breath might be his last.

She must have dozed, because she awoke to a sharp gasp from above her. She pointed his wand at the candles and they spluttered before lighting. His eyes looked down at her, clear, though pain-filled.

"You came back then?" he said, his voice ragged and sore.

"I promised," she said.

He lifted his good arm and held it out to her and she clambered gently, gratefully, onto his lap, flinching herself when he winced as she settled against him.

"How do you feel?"

"Been better."

"I did what I could. Scabior, what happened?"

He took a deep breath, shuddering again. "Got any whiskey?"

"I've got a potion for the pain."

"I need a drink."

"In the cupboard."

He nodded and took his wand from her hands, where she'd forgotten she still held it. He flicked his wand and a moment later a bottle hurtled towards them, Liz reaching out to catch it. She unstopped it and held it to his lips, watching as he drank greedily. When he was done, she took a sip of her own.

"I got Potter," he said and her eyes widened. "Him or one of his dopey mates used the Taboo."

"What's the Taboo?" Liz asked.

"I told you, it's - " he paused and she leant away, afraid she was hurting him.

"I don't remember," Liz said.

"Yeah, that's right. It weren't you. It's this word, it calls us to people that use it. And the only people likely to are Rebellion,'" he paused to cough. "Anyway, we found him and his mates, the Mudblood girl and one of the Weasleys. They'd done sommat to him, made him look funny but I knew it was him. We took him to Malfoy Manor and all hell broke loose."

"He attacked you?" Liz asked and Scabior scoffed.

"As if that speccy little twat could," he spat. "It was Bellatrix, the mad bitch. Davey had this sword and she saw it and fucking lost it. Killed Davey right there and I stepped in and that was it. Bitch went for me," he raised his hand to his neck and prodded the skin tenderly.

"Barely made it out of there. Couldn't see what I was doing, I was half-out of it. Splinched myself coming back."

Liz nodded. "What did she do?"

"Some fucking spell," he gestured for the bottle again and she held it up for him. "I dunno. And she Stunned me. I'm done with them. Fuck 'em."

"But you got Potter…" Liz said, trying to cheer him.

"Yeah, for all the fucking good it did," he spat bitterly. "I can't fucking go back and ask for my ten grand, can I? I'm fucking lucky to be alive."

Liz remained silent, stroking his hair softly. "I'm sorry," she said softly and he turned to her. His eyes locked with hers and for a moment they were filled with rage. Then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

"Don't matter," he said gruffly. "I've got you. I've got some stuff saved. We've got the house. We're all right."

Liz nodded. "We are," she said.

She leant forward to kiss him, pressing lightly against him when the front door slammed open again. Scabior tried to stand but fell back onto the sofa, knocking Liz to the floor. For a horrible moment, Liz thought Bellatrix had followed him home, had come to finish the job and she scrambled to her feet to face her.

To her shock, Jenny stood in the doorway, the wand in her hand trained on Scabior, her eyes narrowed and brimming with hatred.

"Jenny," Liz said slowly. "What are you doing?"

"I've come to rescue you," the blond girl replied. "His lot are done. I'm freeing you."


	30. Chapter 29

Liz stared blankly at her cousin. "Freeing me?"

There was a movement in the corner of her eye and she turned to see Scabior pointing his wand at Jenny. But his injuries had slowed his reflexes and Liz's mouth gaped as her cousin shouted 'Expelliarmus' and the wand jerked out of his hand, soaring to Jenny, who caught it neatly, turning it back on him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Liz said, moving to stand in front of her wounded lover. "Give it back to him."

"I'm saving you," Jenny said.

"Saving me from what? This is my house. I don't need saving," she replied.

Scabior gave a harsh bark of laughter behind her and Liz turned slightly towards him.

"You heard the lady," he rasped. "Leave us alone. Get out. And give me my fucking wand back."

Jenny did not lower her wand from where the Snatcher lay slumped. "Get fucked, Scabior," she spat at him. "Get your stuff, Liz."

"Jenny!" Liz gasped. "What is wrong with you? I'm not going anywhere," Liz said. "I'm fine here."

"With him?" Jenny shrieked. "After what he did to you?"

"Shut up," Scabior growled, trying to rise from the sofa.

"It doesn't matter now," Liz said. "It's fine now, we've sorted it."

"You've sorted it? Are you serious? After he-"

"I said SHUT UP!" Scabior bellowed, lunging at her. He collapsed in a heap at Liz's feet and she bent down instantly, trying to help him back up. His fingers locked on her arm, his eyes pleading.

Jenny's laugh was terrible. "She doesn't know, does she? What – did you alter her memories?"

"I'll fucking kill you," he hissed at her. "I swear to Merlin I will slit your fucking throat you stupid bitch."

"Scabior?" Liz said, looking at him.

"Don't listen to her, she's raving," he said viciously. "Jealous because I chose you. We need to get her out."

"Jealous?" Jenny sang. "Hardly. I might go for wankers but even I draw the line at psychopaths and murderers."

"He's not a murderer," Liz looked back at her cousin. "He hasn't killed anyone."

"He tried to kill you!" Jenny replied and Scabior swore, scrabbling again at Liz's arms to try and stand.

"He didn't…" Liz said. "He saved me."

"He tried to kill you," Jenny said slowly. "In this room, after he killed one of his own Snatchers. He had his hands around your neck and he was throttling you."

"That didn't happen," Liz said. "Jenny, that didn't happen. I'd remember…"

"She's lying," Scabior said, but there was something caught in his voice that made Liz look at him again. "I swear it, Princess, you know how I feel about you."

"Bullshit," Jenny spat. "You killed Rowley. Right there. Ratter saw it all. He told me."

"He's lying," Scabior said.

"I don't understand…" Liz looked at Jenny.

Scabior clawed at her, trying to pull her around to face him. Jenny flicked her wand, sending a Stinging Jinx at him and he reeled back, his right hand clamped to his face where the curse had struck. "You fucking whore," he bellowed at her and she laughed again.

"Sticks and stones, Scabby. You don't scare me anymore," she looked back at Liz. "He killed Rowley. Ratter was upstairs, just after New Year's and he heard it Heard him-" she jabbed her wand viciously at Scabior "-come back. Heard a thump. Came down to see what it was. He saw Rowley dead and him beating you bloody. He saw him punch you and kick you. He saw him kneel on your chest and strangle you. He saw it all. He helped get rid of the body. It's in the garden. A stick, so I'm told."

Liz stared at Jenny, her head shaking wildly back and forth. "That's not true. I was ill. I was in bed. I was ill."

"He battered you. And he told Greyback to bite me. Because I was pregnant and it was his."

The shock sent Liz's legs out from under her. She sank to the floor, buzzing in her ears as she tried to understand what she'd been told. She heard movement behind her, but before Scabior could get to her, Jenny blasted him back again. Liz heard him moan behind her and she looked up at Jenny.

"No…"

"Yes." For the first time, Jenny's mask of anger slipped and Liz could see the pain behind it. "I realised just after I left with Greyback. I wasn't going to say anything, but he smelt it. And he told _him-_" she pointed at Scabior again "-and _he_ told Greyback to deal with it."

"He bit you?" Liz stammered. "Greyback bit you? But that means…"

Jenny nodded. "He bit me. I'm… infected now. _He_ knew all about it. All of it."

"It weren't mine," Scabior said and Liz turned to him, her face stark and pale.

"It's true?" she asked, but he ignored her.

"It weren't my fucking kid. I told you I can't have them. I take a potion. She's lying. Another lie."

"There was no-one else," Jenny seethed at him. "I didn't sleep with Rowley. Or the mutt. I know it was yours. You know it was yours. And you set your hound on me while you battered my cousin."

"I will end you," he hissed at her. "I will spend days cutting you up. You'll wish Greyback had finished the job by the time I'm done with you."

"No…" Liz said, reaching for him. "It isn't true, is it? It isn't. I'd _remember._"

"'Course it ain't true," Scabior said.

But Liz was shaking her head. She couldn't remember any of it but there were other things. Her cleanly shaven legs, the absence of weakness after her supposed illness, Rowley's disappearance, the Dittany… "Tell me it isn't true," she implored him.

"It ain't true," he began. "She's-"

"Liar!" Jenny screamed, hexing him a third time. This time he fell silent, slumping back onto the floor, his eyes closed. Liz stared down at him, torn, before she slowly turned back to face her cousin.

"Jenny," Liz said faintly and then Jenny was by her side, pulling her into her arms.

"I'm so sorry I left you with him, I'm so, so sorry," her cousin whispered, cradling her. "But it's going to be ok now. We're going to go somewhere safe. Where none of them can find us. It's over now."

"But Greyback?"

"Missing. Ratter came back about three hours ago and packed his stuff and then ran. We've been staying in this place near London. Said everything had gone wrong. Greyback ran and he said Scabior had left. So I came for you while I could."

"You're going to have a baby," Liz said dazedly.

"No, I'm not," Jenny said gently. "I'm a werewolf, Lizzy. The transformation…" she paused, her lip shaking briefly before she collected herself. "We have to go. Come on."

"But he wouldn't-" Liz looked back at Scabior. "I don't remember any of this. Surely I would? Surely I'd remember that?"

"He probably Obliviated you," Jenny said. "Please, we can talk about it when we're safe. Let's go."

"He wouldn't. He cares about me."

"He's evil, Lizzy. He tried to kill you. He killed his own friend."

"No…" Liz repeated as Jenny hauled her to her feet. "It's not. It can't be."

"I should fucking bite him," Jenny spat.

As she spoke, Scabior stirred and despite her earlier assurances she wasn't afraid of him, Jenny flinched. She held out his wand to Liz. "Come on."

Liz looked at the wand in her hand and then at Scabior. "I can't…"

"You have to. Please. Lizzy, he'll kill us both."

Liz allowed Jenny to place the wand in her hand. She turned one last time to glance at Scabior and then he lunged.

He crashed into her, knocking her into Jenny and all three fell back to the floor, Liz winded from the impact. Jenny recovered first, scrambling away and trying to pull Liz with her. But Scabior had her by the ankle, pulling her back to him, trying to clamber onto her body, to pin her underneath him.

"Don't you fucking leave me," he growled at her. "Don't you fucking dare."

Jenny aimed a kick at the Snatcher's head, the crack as her boot connected with his face echoing sickeningly across the room. He let go of Liz and Jenny tugged her free, hauling her to her feet.

"I'll fucking kill you both," he screamed, demented, as Liz shrank against Jenny in horror. The Stinging Jinx had left welts across his cheek, one eye was already swollen shut from Jenny's kick. He looked like a creature from a nightmare, trying to crawl across the floor towards them, his clothes leaving smears of blood on the floor behind him, his teeth bared in rage. "You're both dead. I will fucking find you and I will fucking kill you. You can't go nowhere. I will find you."

"Go," Jenny pushed Liz toward the door and raised her wand. "I'll deal with him."

"No!" Liz pulled at her arm, pleading. "Let's both go. Just leave him!"

"Elizabeth!" Scabior screamed, trying to push himself to his feet. "Don't you fucking dare walk out of here."

His frenzied howl echoed in Liz's ears as her cousin pulled her from the house, gripping her tightly as she spun.


	31. Chapter 30

The days after her liberation were a blur to Liz. At night, she'd dream of him, turning her head in the sheets to catch his scent, an ache inside her when she realised he wasn't there. By day she was cossetted and cared for, watched almost constantly, nodding when they told her she was lucky to be away from him.

Jenny had brought her to a ramshackle cottage, somewhere deep in the Lake District. It belonged to Mr Eeylop, who'd established it as a safe house, one of a few, he assured Liz, across the country for people like them, though Jenny and Liz were not the only refugees secreted there. There was a Mrs Tonks, who was pale but strong and made endless cups of tea whilst chatting about her new grandson, and a family called the Cattermoles, whose children stared out of the windows at the outside world almost all day. All of them were in hiding from someone on The Dark Lord's side.

She found it hard to be around the other people, especially the children. They were too loud, too present, they came too close and she shrank away from them. The others peered at her, or smiled at her and she'd shrink away behind Jenny, wishing _he_ was there to cover her. Despite what they said, he was the only thing she'd known for almost six months.

Healers came to see Liz, to talk to her about what had happened. Despite their best efforts, they could not recover the memories that Scabior had taken from her, and so she remained trapped in a state of limbo, her head knowing she should believe her cousin but her heart… It was hard to be angry, to be upset about things she could not recall. Not even snatches of them remained in her mind. But she remembered his arms around her, his mouth on hers. Yes, she remembered the times he'd slapped her, taunted her, abandoned her, and she knew that was bad enough, even without the other things Jenny said he'd done. There was no physical evidence of what he'd done; the only marks that remained on her body were from their lovemaking. No scars, no broken bones, no indication he'd ever done any of the things Jenny had said he had. She didn't believe her cousin had lied, she'd seen the look on his face when Jenny had told her what he'd done, seen how he tried to stop her. But there was no proof, and without that, Liz couldn't reconcile it to the life she'd known with him.

Jenny told her again what had happened the night with Rowley, telling her everything Ratter had let slip over the past few weeks. How Scabior had thought she and Rowley were together. How he'd used the worst Unforgivable to cut him down, before attacking her. Jenny told her how Ratter had intervened by making his presence known, likely saving her life at the hands of her former lover, how Scabior had transfigured Rowley into a stick, tossing him into the garden. She told her how Scabior had bragged about taking her virginity on the spot where Rowley had perished, how he'd gloated over his plans to claim the house and keep her there while he lived the life he wanted. She told Liz about the times he'd been with other women. She told Liz how ruthlessly he'd commanded Greyback to end her pregnancy and how the werewolf had half-turned and bitten her. Even when Liz saw the scar on her cousin's belly, she couldn't quite believe it was Scabior's fault.

They made Jenny take a test, waving a wand over her abdomen, all smiles when the wand emitted white sparks, showing she was not carrying his child. But Liz felt numb at the news. Liz felt numb all the time. She took to spending her days in the small attic room they'd given her, sitting on a chair by the skylight, a blanket over knees as she pretended to read. She ate and drank whatever they put in front of her. She continued agreeing with them when they told her he was evil, that he'd pay for it. And all the while she yearned for him.

March turned into April, and as the April sunshine warmed the ground outside, awakening the flowers, so Liz began awaken. He haunted her dreams less and less, she forgot his scent. She began to spend more time downstairs, shyly talking to the other people there. She began to help in the house, taking her turn at cooking and cleaning, playing with the children. She learned how Harry Potter had saved the Cattermoles, how Mrs Tonks had lost her husband. When Andromeda told her that her husband, Ted, had died at Scabior's hand, Liz's initial reaction was disgust instead of doubt. She also learned that Andromeda's daughter was an auror, and that her husband was a werewolf. Most astonishingly was the fact her grandson was the child of a werewolf, but in fact a metamorphmagus, like his mother. Though Liz knew it would be different for Jenny, that no child would survive the transformation each month, it still gave her hope for her cousin. Carefully, Liz probed the woman for information on her son-in-law's life, his situation, marvelling at the fact he had married an auror, had been accepted into the Order of the Phoenix, had even taught at Hogwarts at one point. She began to think about life after the war, how she could help Jenny adapt to her new life, how they could rebuild their home, when this was all done.

Jenny had changed too, almost beyond recognition. Gone was the make-up, the teased hair and the sultry voice. The new Jenny was determined, strong, almost a leader. It was she who risked the outside world to scavenge for copies of the Daily Prophet, she who spent hours trying to find a program on the wireless called Potterwatch. She moved with ease, despite her new situation and Liz once again found herself admiring her cousin. Liz had been afraid at the first full moon, but Andromeda had secured some Wolfsbane potion from her son-in-law and Jenny passed the night quietly, locked in her room. They didn't speak again about the baby, or Scabior's part in it.

It was the day that a woman named Hestia Jones bought a kitten around for the Cattermole children that she broke down. She heard the mewling before she saw the tiny scrap of fluff and she was instantly transported back to her home, to her bed, to him putting the kitten on her lap. She sank to the floor, her chest heaving with sobs, while Mr Eeylop and Mary Cattermole watched her in bewilderment. Andromeda had picked her up easily and held her as though she were her own daughter, rocking her as Liz sobbed and sobbed, grieving for everything she'd lost, and everything she'd thought she had.

When she'd finished crying, Jenny had held her elbow as they climbed the narrow staircase, staying with her as she fell asleep. When she awoke, she felt reborn.

She was sitting with the other adults, the children long since asleep, quietly sipping tea and chatting when a silvery shape surged into the room. Everyone was on their feet in an instant, six wands, including Liz holding Scabior's, pointed at the lynx patronus that had appeared in their sanctuary. A deep voice filled the room, telling them 'He was at Hogwarts, the final battle is beginning'. As it faded away, they turned to each other in horror. When the door slammed open they'd all screamed, only for a young woman with purple hair to burst in and thrust a tiny, blue-haired baby at Andromeda before telling her she was going to fight with Remus. She was gone before they could understand what had happened.

Andromeda and Mr Eeylop had a brief but furious argument over whether Andromeda should follow and fight alongside her daughter and son-in-law. In the end it was decided, no one should go, Andromeda needed to stay with the baby, and the rest weren't able to fight.

They'd waited all night, sitting awake and afraid as the moon moved across the sky and the darkness gave way to sunrise. Finally, an owl arrived. Mr Eeylop opened it, his face turning grey and Liz felt her insides freeze. They'd lost. Andromeda took the letter, her hands trembling as a high keening wail broke from her throat. Mrs Cattermole escorted her out and it was then Mr Eeylop told them. They'd won. Voldemort was dead, his followers either dead, arrested or being hunted. But Andromeda had lost both her daughter and son-in-law. The tiny baby upstairs sleeping was now an orphan. The cost of life had been great.

They held a sombre celebration, glasses raised first in toast to the fallen, then again to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and saviour of the wizard race.

Others came later in the day, to laugh and cry with them and Liz joined in as best she could. She felt strangely embarrassed though, terrified they'd ask her who she was running from and she'd have to tell them about him. She hid away, wondering whether maybe she might want to leave the wizarding world entirely. Her mother had, had walked away from it when the war began. Perhaps she could find her, enrol at a muggle university. There must be a way to have her grades from Hogwarts recognised at one. She could study veterinary studies. She'd still have some links, through Jenny, but she wouldn't have to be part of this strange world where a man could take the memories from your head with a flick of a wand.

She remained in the house with Jenny and Mr Eeylop long after the others returned to their homes. Neither she nor Jenny wanted to return to Oxford, return to either of their former homes. Mr Eeylop had gone to Liz's house, taking one of the Weasley boys with him, to try and salvage clothes and heirlooms Liz wanted, but the house had been burned to the ground. There was no sign of the kitten, Riley, either. Though she was horrified by it, in a way, Liz was relieved to not be able to go back. When Eeylop's Owl Emporium re-opened, and Mr Eeylop had returned to the flat above, the girls remained in the cottage, at peace.

On the first of June, The Daily Prophet printed a full list of the dead and detained. White-lipped, Jenny had brought them each a copy home and they'd sat in silence, trailing their fingers down page after page of names.

Jenny found him first. "Liz," she said softly and she froze, for a split second her heart aching. Jenny pointed it out to her, that he was listed as dead, perishing on a collapsed bridge in the grounds of Hogwarts on May 1st.

"Are they sure?" Liz asked, unsure what she wanted the answer to be.

"He had that tattoo, from Azkaban. They'll have identified him from that."

Liz nodded. She looked at him name, confused when it started to shimmer before her eyes. Then Jenny's arm was around her and she was crying.

Later that day she'd taken his wand into the small garden at the rear of the cottage and snapped it in two, burying it in the ground there. She didn't want it. If she wanted a wand, she could put her name down on the waiting list at Ollivanders. But she wasn't sure she did anymore. Perhaps, Liz thought, it was time for a fresh start.


	32. Epilogue

"Do you want another drink?"

The voice pulled her rudely from where she'd been dozing in the sun. She nodded and smiled, turning over onto her back, basking in the late summer rays.

"Please," she murmured, adjusting the straps on her bikini and closing her eyes again. She heard her cousin move off of the sun-lounger next to her and pad almost silently through the grass. She'd almost dozed off again when she heard the same footsteps treading back towards her

"You took long enough," she said, stretching slightly.

She frowned when the shadow fell over her face. "You're blocking my light, Jen."

When the shadow didn't move, she opened her eyes, blinking at the glare of the sun. But all the warmth faded from the world when she looked straight into the cold blue eyes of a man she thought was dead. She was horrified to realise the wand was pointed at her throat was her own taken one, a knife in his other hand, the blade coated in a viscous red liquid that pooled at the tip before dripping onto the grass beside them. His hair fell dark and tangled over his shoulders, a hideous scar bisecting his face, running from his covered left eye to his jaw.

"Hello beautiful," he rasped. "Did you miss me?"


End file.
